


A Tale of Dolphins and Rivers

by Bladelordx66



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-29 11:49:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 45
Words: 206,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14472144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bladelordx66/pseuds/Bladelordx66
Summary: For want of a nail, the shoe was lost.  A butterfly flapping its wings can cause a tornado. The tiniest things can change the world as we know it.What influence will Hoster Tully's bastard daughter have on the War of the Five Kings?





	1. Daughter of Rivers

273 AC.

Riverrun’s Great Hall was full of lords and smallfolk alike, as Lord Hoster Tully, Lord of the Riverlands heard the pleas and complaints of his vassals.  It had been a long and stressful day, but as the sun sank over the Red Fork, it was finally almost over. With the last of the petitioners dealt with, Hoster sank back into the lord’s seat of Riverrun and wearily nodded to his steward.

 

Utherydes Wayn stepped forward and cleared his throat; “Let any man who has unresolved business with the Lord Paramount of the Trident come forth” he stated in a bold, clear voice.

The hall remained silent, and Lord Hoster breathed a sigh of relief, before nodding to Utherydes again. Utherydes raised his arm and banged his iron-shod staff on the floor. “In the name of the Lord of Riverrun, I declare this session closed.”

Slowly the hall emptied, but just before Hoster was about to leave, a man at arms in the livery of House Tully strode across the hall and bent to Lord Hoster’s ear.  “My lord, a woman waits outside the gates with a babe in her arms. She asked to meet you, she says it’s about what happened in Pennytree last year.” Hoster was suddenly glad for the lateness of the hour as his face paled to chalk white, unseen in the sunset’s dim glow. He knew what this woman wanted.

 

Last year, when his dear Minisa had died, despite his still-present grief, his duty had caused him to leave the Riverlands in Brynden’s hands a few months later while he took a journey to Seagard to congratulate Lord Jason Mallister on the birth of his son and heir, Patrek. On the way back to Riverrun, heavy rain caused him to take refuge in the small village of Pennytree, under the roof of one of the smallfolk. Upon talking to her, she admitted that she herself, had been widowed a few weeks previously when her husband drowned after falling from a bridge on the Red Fork.  

 

As the night progressed and the rain continued, as they talked more, they ceased to become Lord and vassal and simply became grieving widow and widower. One thing led to another, and they comforted each other that night. When the dawn came and their senses returned, Hoster cleaned up and apologized for taking advantage of her grief, as any lord should, before returning to Riverrun, where he put the incident out of his mind, having done what was expected of a lord who slept with his vassals.

 

While he had been reminiscing, the woman in question had been led in, with a babe almost a year old in her arms. A quick glance around verified that none were present who couldn’t be trusted to hold their tongues, and Hoster stood from his chair, before swiftly crossing the hall and standing before the woman and child.

 

She bobbed her head as she was unable to bow while holding her babe, and offered Hoster the child. As he took it, the babe looked up and Hoster found his gaze meeting a pair of innocent, bright-blue eyes, and mentally kicked himself.

 

_ The only woman I sleep with since Minisa passes, and I forget to give her tansy tea. Others take it!” _

 

Looking at the few strands of red hair poking out of the infant’s wrappings, Lord Hoster Tully felt the slight weight in his arms, and just for a second, the thought flashed through his mind of how easy it would be to dash the babe onto the stone floor, painlessly shattering the tiny skull in an instant. Or if he didn’t want the mess, he could simply step over to the window and let the bundle fall into the Red Fork, watch the water fill the tiny mouth as it sank to the bottom of the river to rest with its Tully kin, taking the stain on his honor with it. The mother wouldn’t be an issue, one call to a guard, a nick with his own dagger and she’d be killed instantly for trying to assassinate the Lord of Riverrun, eliminating the problem.

 

Even as he drew breath to shout for the guard, the cloth shifted and he found himself staring into a pair of eyes the same bright blue that himself and his children shared, eyes that seemed to stare into his very soul. Instantly, he felt cut as if to the bone and was deeply ashamed of himself.  Bastard and stain on his honor or not, he would not murder a mother and her child for his honor. However, that still left the problem at hand. He looked around the room and stared into the portraits of his ancestors hanging in the Great Hall, every Lord and Lady of Riverrun, from Axel Tully who built Riverrun during the Andal Invasion, all the way down the family to his own lord father.

_ What would you do, Father? _

 

He followed the gaze of his father’s painted eyes to the other wall where a Tully banner hung, the silver trout proudly leaping over the three forks of the Trident, muddy soil between them. As he gazed at his family’s sigil, he felt his family’s values come to the forefront of his mind and he knew.

 

Taking a second to harden his resolve, Hoster Tully turned back to the woman standing there patiently, and handed her back the babe.

“What is it you hoped to gain by coming here today? Are you asking me to take her to live with my family, you must know I cannot do that.”

 

The abrupt jerk of her head was his answer. “No, milord, I wanted you to acknowledge her. She deserves better than the life of an unknowns bastard, milord.”

 

Hoster Tully felt the shame burning in his chest like a fire, which confirmed his choice of action for him. “Very well. I have made my decision. Take her back to Pennytree and raise her there. I will have a house sufficient for a mother and child built for you, send to you each month a certain amount of coin which will help raise her, as well as people to teach her what is necessary for a Tully as she grows older, and nameday gifts each year. I will also acknowledge if asked that she is my daughter, though I will not offer that information if not. 

 

For this, I ask only one thing. Never come to Riverrun again. I will have a few ravens kept in the village so you can reach me should the need be desperate, or you can send word with a merchant heading this way. But do me and my family the respect of keeping her away from Riverrun until she is old enough to travel on her own and understand the consequences of what she is doing, both good and bad.”

 

The woman sank to her knees in gratitude. “M…milord, thank you. This is more than I ever could have expected.”The mother shifted her babe so the cloth covered it more fully and smiled at Hoster. “You’re a good man milord, thank you.”

 

A small smile crossed Hoster Tully’s face at this praise, before it turned to stone. “Just make sure not to inflate her head about her rights. That usually leads to bastards attempting to kill their siblings and or usurp their inheritances; and I’d rather not have to have her killed.” He said, stroking her red hair. “Speaking of whom, what is her name?”

 

The mother bobbed a ragged curtsy. “Well, my mother was from the Vale, milord, so I named her Alyssa, after the weeping woman.”

 

Hoster Tully nodded, and held out his arms for the child again. Her mother passed her over, and he held her up to the light. “Alyssa, Alyssa Rivers.” He handed the child back and the woman left. Hoster sat in thought for a second, before he noticed Utherydes approaching from the side.

 

“Very generous of you, my lord” the faithful steward said, “but why if I may ask, are you going to such trouble?”

 

Hoster Tully sat in silence for a second before he answered. “She is my blood, Utherydes.” The Lord of Riverrun’s face was set. “Besides, this might be a message from the Seven. There are only five Tullys left, and all reside in Riverrun. Should it fall, House Tully could be wiped out. Having a spare child of Tully blood hidden somewhere may well prove the salvation of our House.”

 

A light of understanding flashed in Utherydes’ eyes as Hoster continued.

“Besides, the Book of the Mother says mercy will be rewarded in time, maybe”, he said, looking thoughtful, “this one small act of kindness will help House Tully far more than I can imagine.”

 

Utherydes nodded and excused himself, and Hoster departed for his solar, and some well-deserved rest at last. 

 

 


	2. A Tree of Pennies and a Black Fish

The village of Pennytree, in the Riverlands. Situated on the bank of the Red Fork, it had long been a battleground between the Brackens of Stone Hedge and the Blackwoods of Raventree Hall, both disputing the other’s right to hold it. Neither house controlled it now; years ago the King had grown tired of Pennytree raising a new banner every year, and so planted his own dragon banner over it, claiming the village as a royal fief.  Watered by the stream known as the Widow’s Wash, it nestled in the bosom of the two great hills called the Teats.

Atop one of them, the ringing and clashing of steel could be heard in the early morning air as two warriors crossed blades. A knight clad in plate and mail, head protected by a greathelm, fended off the attacks of a warrior in boiled leather. Wielding longsword and dagger, the warrior leapt, sidestepped and charged; attempting to strike from so many angles and with such speed that the knight could not defend himself.

Blades flashing in the morning sun, body twisting gracefully, the warrior’s offence resembled water flowing over rocks as he struck at the knight’s neck from the side. None of those attacks so much as scratched him. If the warrior was water, the knight was stone. Shield raised like a wooden wall, boots planted on the soil, head tucked between his shoulders, the knight calmly blocked every stroke. Those he could not block with his shield he parried with his own longsword, with crisp, economic motions, wasting no more energy than necessary. Whenever he saw an opening, he lashed out briefly, returning to his defensive posture immediately after. There was no beauty or grace in his technique, any unnecessary flourishes or flamboyance in his bladework non-existent.

The warrior unleashed a smooth slash with the longsword, aiming for the joints at his hips, and the knight decided to alter his tactics. Stepping back, he met the sword not with his shield, but with his own blade. Moving the sword in a quick half-circle as the blades connected, he smiled under his helm as his opponent’s blade was forced out of position, swung his shield up against the warrior’s chest and shoved.

Plate and mail were much heavier than boiled leather, and the knights shove was enough to force the warrior onto  the defensive. The knight pressed forward with clean, practiced slashes and thrusts, grinning under his greathelm as he knew that very soon the warrior would be forced to do something drastic or risk defeat. Deciding to let it happen on his terms, his next stroke went wide, a cut that had just enough sloppiness in it to give the impression that he was tiring. The warrior fell into the trap like a fish taking bait, only to feel the hook bite. Leaping over the low cut and planting one foot, the longsword lashed out in an arc aimed for the mail at the knight’s throat where helm did not quite meet breastplate. The warrior grinned as the stroke went home, there was no way the knight’s shield could stop this in time. A sword fell to the ground as a blade found its mark.

“Damn…nearly had you that time.” The voice that came from the crumpled pile of boiled leather on the ground was female, the pause due to the blunted longsword that had been driven into her gut, banishing the air from her lungs. The knight stabbed his blade into the ground, the blunt tourney sword sticking just deep enough to hold for a few moments while he unbuckled his helm, dropping it to the ground. Red hair beginning to grey shook free of the steel bucket and Brynden Tully glanced at his niece, face displaying no hint of his thoughts.

“A reversed thrust. Not my best trick, but definitely not a beginner one.”

Groaning, the girl pulled herself to her feet with the aid of a gauntleted hand, and pulled off her half helm. Red hair, bunched up underneath, fell down until its length reached a little past her shoulders as Alyssa Rivers shook her head.

“I should have seen that coming. I’m starting to think I’ll never beat you, Uncle.”

Brynden chuckled, trying to hide the sweat pouring off his brow from the unexpected stress. That victory had come at a price. “You may not beat me, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t making progress. To see how far you’ve come in such a short time, you’re not that little girl waving sticks around anymore.”

Alyssa shook her head. “I owe it all to your training, Uncle. When Mother asked my father for help we never could have imagined he’d send you.”

Brynden snorted. “It wasn’t a compliment, believe me. Hoster and I had quarrelled over the Redwyne girl again despite the fact she is already wed, and when I refused to marry again and your mother’s letter arrived the next day, Hoster thought a fitting punishment for my defiance was to be sent here for a while.” He slid the tourney sword back into its sheath, sighing in relief as he dropped his shield, glad to have the heavy oak gone from his arm.

“That’s why I gave you the terms I did. I had no problem keep the training going as long as you wanted it. Although back then I just thought you were playing soldier. You’d give up after a week or two and I’d get to go back to Riverrun. I’d forgotten that you had a teacher for two years before me, until he died at the Trident.”

“He was a good man” Alyssa’s eyes went damp for a moment.

“He was a cripple and a fool” Brynden’s tone left no room to question. “Hoster sent him here so he could still feel useful. It shut you up, got your mother some peace and gave him something to do, showing you which end of the sword to hold.” Brynden shook his head sadly. “Then he died with thousands of other fools seeking glory.”

The Blackfish sighed. “But, he was a good man who taught you well enough in the time he had, and now here I am. Seven years. Gods’, that’ll teach me not to make deals in haste.”

Straightening up, Brynden’s eyes narrowed as he ran his eyes down his niece’s body for a moment, observing his work, the results of years of his personal training. Her red hair, the same shade as his brothers children, his own hair and Hoster’s before time replaced the fire with steel, was cut to a length of just below her shoulders. It allowed some freedom in how she wore it when not training, but made it relatively easy to twist into a bun and fit under a half-helm as it was now.

Her body was lithe, slim but muscled. Her armour was boiled leather, not as strong as mail or plate, but lighter, and less restrictive. Longsword and dagger hung at her hips, Alyssa eschewing the use of a shield in favour of speed and a second attacking blade. Gloves replaced gauntlets, and boots greaves, both out of preference and pragmatism.

Light armour was cheaper, and there was no way a bastard could afford plate. Brynden had brought a set of sparring armour with him originally, and every year for her name day he either had it adjusted or replaced it when she grew too big for it. The tourney blades he did the same with, any other weapons or armor she wanted she would have to pay for herself.

Her blue cloak was simple but well-kept, showing her allegiance to House Tully but lacking any arms as a bastard had no right to them. A steel half-helm, the result of years of saving coins from odd jobs around the village and the one piece of real armor she owned, completed the set. Dropping his eyes and nodding to himself with a hint of pride, Brynden Tully continued.

“I may have trained you, but I can’t take all the credit. You worked damn hard to get where you are today, never forget that.”

Alyssa’s cheeks blushed red, and the Blackfish crushed her to his armoured chest in a hug. “Now I know I didn’t teach you that. No more of that girl, you may not have the name, but you have Tully blood, you do it proud, but you need to have some pride in yourself as well. Walk with confidence.” She looked up at him, and he set her back down with a grin. “Happy name day, Alyssa.”

He released her, and she smiled at him. “Thank you, Uncle.” Before either could say any more, the sound of wheels on dirt could be heard they looked over the hill to see a wagon headed for the village. Brynden picked up his sword and shield.

“I suppose we should go and see what that is.” He turned and started down the Teats towards Pennytree. Sheathing her blunted weapons, Alyssa quickly followed.  By the time they reached the village, the square was filled with people eager to see what was going on. Entertainment was scarce in Pennytree, and an arrival like this broke the monotony. As they arrived, the sight of the Tully trout on the coverings of the wagon confirmed Brynden’s suspicions. “Looks like Hoster’s sent your nameday gift, right on time as usual.”

The merchant, having tethered his mules and thrown the covering off his cart, whistled loudly for silence. “Right, I know you all want to see what I have, but lord’s business before mine. Which of you is Alyssa Rivers?” Alyssa stepped forward, and the merchant reached into his cart, grunting slightly as he moved aside a crate, before he emerged with a large bundle wrapped in cloth. A letter was attached to the outside, stuck to the cloth with wax, sealed with the leaping trout of Riverrun. People crowded around Alyssa, eager to see what Lord Hoster had sent this year. Alyssa drew her belt knife and used the blunt edge to break open the wax. She unfolded the letter, and for the benefit of the surrounding crowd began to read aloud.

_Alyssa._

_Brynden tells me you’ve become quite the swordswoman. When I sent him to you I was just trying to shut you up and get him out of my hair, but I must admit, you’ve both proved me wrong. I personally don’t approve of women fighting, but as the Lord of Riverrun, I think that House Tully can’t afford to turn away skilled, loyal fighters. However, a fighter needs a weapon, and a warrior needs a sword. You’re a woman grown now, not a girl, and this is a weapon, not a toy. Use it well, and remember. You may not be a Tully, but the blood of rivers runs through you. Do me proud, daughter, and happy nameday from your father._

_Hoster Tully_

_Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Trident._

Alyssa folded up the letter and put it away, before she carefully unwound the cords holding the package together. The gathered villagers seemed to hold their breath as Alyssa removed the cloth from the bundle, setting it aside and causing everyone to gasp as the contents were revealed. As expected, it was a sword. Aside from the initial shock of seeing the Lord of Riverrun send a girl a sword though, there was not really anything remarkable about it. It was a longsword, the perfect size for Alyssa, and judging from his grin, Uncle Brynden had had something to do with that. The guard was a straight piece of metal, the hilt wrapped in leather. The pommel was a simple disc of steel, the only decoration in the center; the Tully trout worked in silver. She turned the sword in her hands, and the guard seemed to flash. She held it up to the light, observing that words seemed to be engraved into the underside of the guard.

_Family, Duty, Honor_

Taking a grip on the scabbard, Alyssa gestured for space and the crowd moved away far enough to give her room to unsheathe the blade. With barely a whisper, the steel cleared the scabbard. The scabbard was wood wrapped in leather, however the inside had been lined with blue cloth, reducing the sounds made by drawing the sword. As for the blade itself, it was forged from castle-forged steel that had been blued from heat. Hard and soft steel had alternatively been beaten to create a pattern of ripples in the metal that resembled waves. Alyssa lifted the sword into the sunlight, and as it flashed, the light danced across the ripples and the blade seemed for a moment to move. She tried a practice cut, and the steel appeared to flow like water. She slashed the blade back and forth a few more times, enjoying the fine balance, before she slid the blade back into the scabbard.

Brynden placed his hand on her shoulder. “A fine blade, looks like a good deal of time, effort and money went into it. Such a fine sword deserves a name.

Instead of responding immediately, Alyssa’s eyes stared into the distance as her thoughts turned inwards. _River. That is my name. That is what I am._ Looking for inspiration, her ears picked up the sound of the Widow’s Wash nearby, gurgling over stones, and a thought struck her. _Why doesn’t it cut through them? It slowly does what steel could do in moments, why? Because it grinds rather than cuts...because it is not sharp._

Suddenly, she knew. Blinking as her thoughts returned to the present, she raised the blade, holding it up to the light, allowing the sun to wash over the ripples in the steel. “I am a river, and this is my edge.” In one smooth motion, she slid the newly named River’s Edge into its sheath, inwardly smiling at the slight click as guard met scabbard; she finally had her own sword. Unbuckling the tourney blade from her waist, she belted on River’s Edge with pride, quickly getting used to the weight.  Looking at Brynden’s proud eyes, Alyssa resolved to practice even harder to be worthy of it, and headed for home, and her lessons. Today was about House Frey, the Tully’s most powerful bannerman. Inwardly, Alyssa groaned as she began the long process of learning the Freys convoluted family line.

A month went by, Brynden having a stern word with her in the last few days about training herself into the ground, before one day a raven was seen flying overhead as Alyssa headed back from a swim. Intrigued, she headed into town, following the raven until it reached her house. Expecting word from Lord Hoster, she took the scroll sealed with the Tully trout, only to discover a small ink drawing of a fish on the outside.

_This is for Uncle Brynden, not me._

Absentmindedly patting the raven and feeding it a scrap of meat, the bird then flying off with a pleased squawk, she thought quickly as to where Brynden would be this time of day, before heading to the village walls. Having lived in the village for nine years, Brynden Tully earned his keep by keeping watch and seeing off any bandits or thieves who might seek to threaten Pennytree. Alyssa found him on the small watchtower he’d built himself, as ever, keeping his vigil over the gate.

When she climbed the stairs to reach him, Brynden Tully didn’t even turn around, expecting one of the village girls to be bringing him lunch any time now. However, the sound of his niece clearing her throat grabbed his attention, and he spun to meet her. “Alyssa, this is a surprise. Training isn’t for another few hours, unless you came to take a shift with me.”

Shaking her hair out of her face, and making a note to have it cut, Alyssa smiled. “No Uncle, not today. A raven came for you from Riverrun.”

Brynden’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “For me? That’s odd, Hoster and I hardly talk, discussing your nameday gift was the most we’ve spoken since before you were born.”

Taking the scroll, he drew his knife and slit the seal in one smooth motion. Unrolling the scroll casually, he began reading almost disdainfully, wondering what Hoster could want after so long. Almost immediately, his eyes narrowed and his full attention focused on the scroll as he read the entire thing, slowly and carefully. He rolled it up carefully, before he put it down, mind already working and turned to Alyssa who was turning to descend the stairs.  “Alyssa, wait.”

His niece turned back immediately, and blue eyes met his gaze. “What’s wrong, Uncle?”

Brynden Tully was a man of his word. Part of the reason why he was willing to defy Hoster in regards to the Redwyne girl was that he never agreed to marry her. He’d made Alyssa a promise years ago, and now he was forced to break it. Taking a deep breath, he looked into his niece’s eyes and gave her the bad news.

“That snake Balon Greyjoy has rebelled against King Robert and declared himself King of the Iron Islands. The Ironborn have struck first, burning Lord Tywin’s ships at anchor. The entire Lannister fleet is ash. Greyjoy’s eldest son, Rodrik, attacked Seagard but unlike at Lannisport” Brynden shook his head disdainfully,  “Lord Jason wasn’t caught with his breeches down. House Mallister drove the Ironborn back into the sea and Lord Jason personally slew “Prince” Rodrik. King Robert has declared war on the Ironborn, and the banners of the Riverlands are massing at Seagard. The North, Reach and Westerlands will be coming as well, and Hoster has commanded me to join him.”

“It seems, I cannot fulfil my oath of remaining here as long as you want me to; I leave for Seagard on the morrow.”  Alyssa felt the shock like a physical blow. She looked up at her uncle, who only shook his head. “I’m sorry Alyssa, I really am. If it was only Hoster, maybe. But this is a royal command as well, I can’t defy Hoster and King Robert while still keeping my head on my neck.”

Shaking his head, he bent to pick up his shield, only to straighten up in shock when he heard his niece’s desperate cry; “Then take me with you!”

Brynden couldn’t believe his ears. “What?”

Calming now, Alyssa repeated her request in a more sedate tone. “Take me with you. The best way to earn legitimisation is through glory in battle, that’s why I learned to fight in the first place. Well this will be the biggest battle since the Trident, I may not get another chance like this.”

“You aren’t ready yet. This isn’t a battle from the songs, these are Ironborn. They will kill you, and that is if you’re lucky.” Brynden stared at his niece, eyes showing not an inch of surrender. “Throwing your life away won’t serve House Tully, nor earn you Hoster’s name.”

“If not now, then when?” Her face was set. “There may not be another war in my lifetime, and if I was Father’s son rather than his daughter, this wouldn’t even be an issue. You know I can fight, Uncle, let me show you and Father just how well.”

Sighing to himself, Brynden Tully sat there, deep in thought, desperate to find any excuse to keep her from coming. Knowing her,  if he refused she would likely sneak off to Seagard anyway, he groaned in frustration and made up his mind. “Alright, Alyssa, you can come with me to Seagard. From there, your father can make the decision, and if Hoster says you can’t come, then I’ll ask Lord Jason for a horse and send you home myself even if I have to tie you to the damn thing. Understood?”

Alyssa nodded, a bright smile on her face, before Brynden sighed again. “Then go get your things ready, pack up your arms and armor, go have the blacksmith put an actual edge on that dagger of yours and prepare for a week of travel, because we ride for Seagard at first light tomorrow. If you aren’t ready, I’ll leave without you. As for me” at this, Brynden Tully, seasoned warrior, anointed knight and hero of the War of the Ninepenny Kings shuddered; “I’ll be telling your mother about this.”


	3. Trout and Eagles

_Seagard is enormous_. That was Alyssa’s first thought. As the next best thing the Riverlands had to a port city and the base for the Mallister fleet, the closest thing to a navy the Riverlands had, she was expected it to be sizable, but this went beyond that. Bustling streets, booming trade and thick, high walls overlooked by the Booming Tower, the great bronze bell catching the evening light as they approached, Seagard was almost indistinguishable from a city. She turned to Brynden, who was smiling as he saw her reactions. “This place is huge, Uncle. Are you sure this isn’t a city?”

Brynden Tully smiled, a knowing look on his face. “Legally, Seagard isn’t a city. The old River Kings always refused it a charter to expand, but the Mallisters are quite powerful, as you know. When they got…creative with its growth and wall building, the River Kings were usually busy fighting off their rivals, not to mention the other Kings, and didn’t have the time or men to deal with it”.

Alyssa grinned at this, and they spoke no more before they passed through the town proper and reached the coast. There, overlooking Ironman’s Bay, stood the great keep of House Mallister, bodies still being cleared away and/or being looted. Banners flapped in the wind, flying from the ramparts. Tallest of all was the tower bearing the crowned stag of Baratheon, signifying House Mallister’s loyalty to the Iron Throne. Below that flew the leaping trout of Tully, the Mallisters liege lords.

The walls themselves bore countless banners emblazoned with the silver eagle of House Mallister, with guards in purple cloaks and winged half-helms lining the ramparts at regular intervals. This display of the power of Seagard took Alyssa’s breath away, as much as the wrecked longships visible in the bay did. _Uncle always said the Mallisters were Father’s most powerful bannermen after the Freys, although much more loyal._ “So how do we find Father? I can’t just waltz into Lord Jason’s solar.”

Brynden’s lips curved in amusement. “Leave that to me.” He beckoned to a nearby Mallister man at arms. “You there. Please inform Lord Hoster that Brynden Tully wishes to see him whenever he has a moment to spare.”

The armsman was almost lost for words, a living legend was talking to him. “Ser Brynden...I...you…”

Brynden laughed. “Calm down lad. Now find my brother please.” Stammering apologies, the armsman turned and ran into the keep, causing curses as his spear tripped more than one person along the way. Brynden simply placed his head in his hand for a moment and sighed to himself. “I remember when I had his energy.”

After a few moments, the man returned, bent double and panting from having run back. “Lord...Hoster’s compliments Ser Brynden. He says he has a few moments now, and will see you in Lord Mallister’s solar.”

Nodding gratefully to the armsman, Brynden beckoned for Alyssa to follow him as he strode into Seagard’s keep. Alyssa trailed behind him, drawing curious glances from servants and highborn alike, until they reached Jason Mallister’s solar, a decently-sized room with a commanding view of Ironman’s Bay. Brynden knocked, and upon being told by a servant that Lord Hoster was alone, entered, shutting the door once Alyssa had followed. At the sound of it closing, the man at the desk turned, and Alyssa caught her first glimpse of Lord Hoster Tully.

Instantly, Alyssa saw the resemblance to her uncle. They shared the same jaw, and his hair was the same shade as Brynden’s, only instead of the streaks of grey in her uncles, the red was the streaks, rapidly being overtaken by grey. But the clincher was the eyes, eyes as watery blue as her uncle’s, eyes she saw in her glass whenever she brushed her hair. Standing up, his hand was on his sword hilt, and he looked vaguely irritated at having been called away from whatever he was doing. “Yes, what is it? Who are… oh, Brynden. You were supposed to arrive yesterday. You missed the war council.”

Stepping forward before she knew what she was doing, the word spilled from Alyssa’s lips before she could stop herself. “Father”.

Hoster Tully was experiencing a rare thing for him. He was shocked into a state of silence. She was supposed to be on the other side of the Blue Fork, what was...his eyes caught the flash of steel at her waist, and in an instant, he knew the girl was who she claimed to be. “Alyssa, what are you doing here, girl? You were supposed to stay in Pennytree, that was the agreement I made with your mother…”

The long ride to Seagard had given Alyssa days to think about this, and she had planned out carefully what she wanted to say, crafting her arguments to convince her father, but at her first sight of him, all thought left her mind. She opened her mouth, but was frozen, staring at the living, breathing man she could now associate with the word “Father”, previously just a name.

Lord Hoster’s eyebrows raised in impatience, and leaning forward slightly, Brynden shoved Alyssa in the back, jerking his head towards Hoster as a reminder of why she was here. Shaking her head, she did her best to answer him.

“You said stay away from Riverrun, my lord, and this isn’t Riverrun.”

Hoster’s face turned dark as he lost patience. “Very amusing, but what are you doing here? This is no place for a girl, what were you thinking Brynden?”

“Sorry my lord” the Blackfish tilted a shoulder in a slight shrug. “She heard I was leaving and demanded to come along.”

“And you let her?”

“She wants to fight” Alyssa could see her uncle’s face was set, the stubbornness the Blackfish was legendary for. “She wants to serve the family, serve you just as I do.”

“Admirable” Lord Hoster’s face, however, showed that he believed it to be anything but. “Still, Brynden, what in the Seven Hells were you thinking? This won’t be a tourney, these are Ironborn; killers and rapers, and I can’t have my men wasting their time keeping her safe.”

Alyssa jerked as if struck at the implication that she had to be protected, but before she could respond, her uncle was there, calm as ever. “What was I thinking? Tell me Hoster, what would we have done at her age? If Father had gone to war and refused to bring us.”

Fuming, Hoster Tully clenched his fists for a moment, before he sighed. “We would have hidden in a wagon or stolen horses and followed him.”

“Something I didn’t want to happen now.” Brynden’s eyes were unusually serious. “She wouldn’t be convinced not to, so I offered her a bargain. She could come this far, at which point it was up to you to have the final say, and if you refused to let her come, she was to return home.”

“Clever as always, Brynden” Hoster said reluctantly, a faint smile upon his lips, before it abruptly died as he turned to face Alyssa. “But as for you, girl, what madness possessed you? This won’t be like the songs, this will be bloody and horrible. Pack your things, you’re going…”

Before he could finish, Alyssa cut across him, rudely she knew, but unwilling to let this chance slip away.

“My lord, wait please. This will be the biggest battle since the Trident, please don’t deny me this chance.”

Irritated at being interrupted, Lord Hoster finally let his frustration show. “Quiet, girl. Why would I let you come to war with me, you’ve never so much as killed a man. Brynden and I have had swords in our hands since we were boys, you aren’t ready for this.”

Brynden cleared his throat meaningfully, and Hoster flicked a glance sideways. “Actually, my lord, in terms of skill, I can say that she is in fact ready for this. She’s been training for years, and after sparring with her, I can certainly say that she’s more than a match for your average soldier, or even Ironborn.”

Against his will, Hoster found himself looking towards Alyssa, who mustered every ounce of her will to stare back, unflinchingly. Now unsure of himself, he cleared his throat. “Be that as it may, your skill isn’t the problem here.”

It wasn’t an argument that she would listen to and he knew it. Before he could change tack, Alyssa pressed her edge, having found her tongue “Then what is? Is it the fact that I’m a bastard, or the fact that I’m a girl. If it’s the fact that I’m a bastard, Ironborn don’t care whether the sword that kills them is held by highborn or smallfolk, they’re dead just the same. If it’s the fact that I’m a girl, well I’ll be going along with the army, I doubt any Ironborn will try to rape me mid battle. Besides, it’s not like I’d be the first woman fighter the Riverlands has had. What about Lady Agnes Blackwood, who led the defence against the Hoares? Or Black Aly, raining arrows on the Baratheons at the end of the Dance? As for our own side, I keep a dagger on me always, and I know how to use it. Let them try, I’ll take their favourite toys away from them.”

Brynden winced, knowing that this just showed his brother how impulsive she was, and Hoster pursed his lips. The look in his eye told Alyssa that she was within seconds of losing all she had dreamt of her whole life, and desperate, she decided to play the last card she had. Drawing her sword, she sank to a knee, blade resting on the stone floor..

“Please, Father. Don’t deny me this chance to prove myself worthy to be your daughter”.

Lord Hoster stroked his chin for a minute, Brynden watching without a word, while Alyssa hardly dared to breathe, having no arguments left. At length, he raised his head and looked her in the eyes. “All right. I don’t like it, but you are an adult now, and after all, if you can’t handle yourself in a fight, Brynden’s wasted years training you. Not to mention, I’ve wasted a decent amount of coin”, he gestured to River’s Edge briefly, before his face set and he became serious. “You want a chance to prove yourself, girl? All right. Let’s see if you’re as good as Brynden says you are. Three galleys arrived recently. While I haven’t had time to inspect them, Lord Keath assures me they are fine ships. He sent his sons with them, to command the armsmen aboard, but his youngest has taken ill, the fool boy caught a pox from a whore. You will take his place, and lead the archers aboard the _Dolphin_ , fitting name for a woman.”

Shock ran through Alyssa’s entire body. _Command? I can’t...I’ve never…_ “I…”

Before she could continue, she felt a hand gently grasp her arm, steadying her, and she recognised her uncle’s voice as if coming from miles away; “Well I’m sure you have a lot of planning to get back to so we’ll let you get back to it. Has old Frey arrived yet?”

Hoster Tully snorted. “The Late Lord Frey? No, he lives up to his name once again. He claims that he’s still gathering his swords, but if I had to wager, my money’s on him not showing up at all. I wish I could deal with him, but King Robert refuses to allow me to start a war in the Riverlands. Frey wouldn’t go quietly, and the old Targaryen loyalists like Darry and Goodbrook are just waiting for a chance like this.”

Brynden sighed; “Say the word and I’ll lead the host up the Kingsroad myself, you know that, but until that time, by your leave, my lord.”

Absentmindedly, Hoster nodded and turned back to his work, already thinking through how to make Walder Frey obey him. Barely recognising all of this, Alyssa felt Brynden’s hand steer her out of the keep, until they stood alone on a quiet beach, and she could speak freely, wringing her shaking hands together. “Uncle, I...I’ve never led men before, I can’t do this.”

The response was surprising. Laughter. Her uncle was laughing at her.  “I said the same thing when I got my first command Alyssa. ‘I’m not ready’ I said to Father, and he said this. ‘No one is ever ready for their first command, and those who think they are are arrogant. It’s our first command that gets us to our seconds and thirds and so on.’ Its ten men, you won’t be expected to take Pyke singlehandedly. The captain will sail the galley, you just need to fight, something you know you can do.”

Alyssa took an unsteady breath, as her panic began to lessen, before Brynden kept on; “as for leading, in this case, shout “With me, men” before you charge on to fight, and occasionally yell “Tully” and “Riverrun” to inspire them. Fight well, don’t be a coward and that’s commanding at sea. Fairly simple.” He smiled at her kindly, her eyebrows crinkling in a way that showed his age. “Hoster may seem gruff, but he wouldn’t give you this command if he didn’t think you were ready, and I wouldn’t let him unless I thought you were ready.”

Alyssa took a deep breath. “Thanks, Uncle.”

She embraced him for a moment, both knowing it might be the last time they saw each other. At length, Brynden gently pushed her away. “All right now, hugging your uncle isn’t the way to win men’s respect. You need to get ready, you depart at first light with the vanguard. Hoster and I will be following behind next day with the main force. Your ship will accompany what few warships we have, mainly Lord Jason’s fleet and the three galleys, but Hoster and I will be taking the army across on what ships we can scrape up, mainly fishing boats and merchant vessels. Lord Jason will command the fleet, and the objective is to ensure that any remnants of the Iron Fleet are smashed before we arrive, or thousands of our men will end their lives at the bottom of Ironman’s Bay.”

Swallowing at the responsibility ahead of her, Alyssa smiled at him briefly. “I’ll see you in two days, Uncle. May the Seven watch over you.”

Brynden nodded. “And you.” Turning, Alyssa headed up the beach towards the docks, looking for the smaller ships among the fleet, walking past the mighty war galleys and few remaining longships of House Mallister, countless fishing and merchant vessels requisitioned to carry the bulk of the army, until she reached the end of the harbour, where a fleet of around ten smaller ships floated, flat-bottomed galleys with triangular sails of Tully blue and mud red.  Ten ships was not a large number to search, and it took her only a few moments to locate the _Dolphin_ . Unlike most of the galleys, _Dolphin_ ’s sail displayed the quartered of nine fishhooks and fish of House Keath instead of the Tully trout on blue and red. As she reached the gangplank, a grey-bearded man stood at the gunwale, staring down at her, hand resting on his sword hilt. “Who are you, girl and what are you doing on my ship?”

Alyssa instinctively reached for her own blade, before halting. She took a deep breath to gather herself, then responded with all the presence she could muster.  “Alyssa Rivers, ser, and I have been ordered to take command of the armsmen aboard this ship. Are you her captain?”

Steel-grey eyebrows crinkled in a frown. “I am. Who gave you this position, and why is a woman bearing arms?”

In response, she bowed, shaking out her blue cloak. “Natural born daughter of Lord Hoster Tully, and in command of these men by his order.”

The captain’s lips pursed in annoyance. “Just what I need, another spoiled highborn who never fought before, and this time it’s a bastard girl looking like she stole her father’s sword.”

Blue eyes narrowed as Alyssa desperately attempted to master her emotions, struggling to contain herself. _Calm down, rage won’t help. The only way to get his respect is to prove your strength._

“I may be a woman, Captain but I can fight as well as any man and better than many. Bring on one of your crew, or draw steel yourself.”

A grey eyebrow rose in amusement. “Well, if you really think you have a chance, then so be it.” He raised his voice, pitched to carry across the deck; “All crew on deck now!” River galleys were small vessels, so this amounted to having the few crewman lazing around on shore dash up the gangplank, until all eighteen rowers were lining the sides, along with seven armsmen in Tully blue and red. “Right, listen up. This”, he indicated Alyssa with a sweep of his arm, “is Alyssa Rivers, Lord Tully’s bastard. She’s your new leader” gesturing to the armsmen. Shouts of disdain and catcalls came from the assembled men, Alyssa clenching her fists in an effort to contain her frustration, and the captain smiled. “I know, I thought the same. A woman can’t lead men. She thinks differently, and so we’re going to sort this out the normal way.” The crew grinned at this, while the Tully armsmen just looked confused, and the captain turned to Alyssa. “What are your terms?”

She bowed her head in thought for a moment, before looking him in the face, eyes full of resolve. “To the death, or until one yields. If I win, House Tully’s men accept me as their leader. If your champion wins, I’ll tell Father I wasn’t ready, and go home.”

The captain stroked his scraggly beard for a moment. “Agreed. I can’t wait to see you running back to Lord Hoster. Myles, get down here!” That last was roared to one of the men on deck, a rower rather than an armsman. He grinned toothily and swaggered down the gangplank, giving Alyssa her first, worrying look at him. He had half a foot and at least fifty pounds on her, his arms showed the kind of steel muscle forged through hours of hoisting sails and pulling oars.

_This doesn’t look good._

Myles gained the shore, and the captain’s experienced eye picked up Alyssa’s slight tremor. “Scared, girl? It’s not too late to back out.”

Determined, she shook her head, and threw off her cloak to free her arms. Many of the men on deck whistled appreciatively at her shapely figure sheathed in leather armour.  Swiftly, the captain marked out a fighting ring with ropes and spears, giving the distinct impression he’d done this many times before. Striking the final spear into the sand with a mallet, he gave the finished arena a nod. “This won’t hold if someone runs into it. Other than that, it should serve.”

Voices sprang up from the deck, and the men whispered as they pointed at her, one calmly noting things down on a slate. Eyebrow raised, Alyssa turned to the captain; “What are they betting on?”

Calmly, with his expression remaining unchanged, he replied ;”How long you’ll last. The stupid ones are betting on your victory.”

This unnerved Alyssa for a moment, and she took a deep breath as the man with the slate wrote one last thing down, looked at the captain and nodded his head. The captain’s chest swelled, and learning quickly, Alyssa put her hands over her ears as his voice rang out once more. “Right, that’s it, time’s up. No more bets, the fight’s about to start.”

Alyssa drew her dagger, calmly balancing it in her left hand before pulling out River’s Edge. The blue blade flashed as it caught the light and caused whispers. Myles reached to his belt and drew the large, ugly sword hanging there. The closest thing she could compare it to was a bastard sword, but it resembled no castle-forged weapon she had seen. It looked as if someone had taken broken pieces of iron, crudely forged them together into the shape of a blade, wrapped rope around it to form a hilt and called the result a sword. Both fighters stood ready as the captain raised his hand. “To the death, or surrender. Fight!” As Myles stepped close to make his first swing, time seemed to slow for Alyssa as one thought ran through the forefront of her mind.

_I need to take him down, and do it hard and fast._

The large blade swung down in a crude arc intended to split her head to foot, sacrificing speed and technique for power. She had tried this on Uncle Brynden once, and he had quickly shown her the error of her ways. Without even thinking, her dagger flashed out, catching the crude weapon near the tip and pushing it aside. River’s Edge chopped down, forcing Myles’ arm down, to the point where his blade’s tip was buried in the ground. She brought her longsword up again, River’s Edge catching Myles’ weapon from underneath as Alyssa pressed down with her dagger, scissoring the crude blade between both of her own.

With one smooth motion, she twisted her wrists, forcing Myles’ to bend in such a manner that he was forced to release his weapon or break his arm. Choosing the former, Myles let the sword go, and Alyssa yanked, sending it flying out of the ring, and far beyond his reach. River’s Edge kissed his throat lightly as the tip of her dagger dug into his belly. The process had taken approximately five seconds. She put slight pressure on her blades. “Do you yield?”

Myles struggled for a moment, causing the blades to dig deeper, which seemed to drive home the reality of the situation to him. “I yield, Seven damn it all.”

Alyssa sheathed her weapons, and the captain broke out of his stunned silence. “And the winner...is Alyssa Rivers. Pay up lads” Judging from the amount of grumbling and coin being handed from all over the deck to one place, most of the ship had bet against her, with one man who decided to back the underdog out of pity becoming very rich as a result. Not even breathing heavily, Alyssa turned to look at the captain.

“Seen enough, ser?”

The grey-haired man blew out a breath. “If I hadn’t seen that with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe it. Part of me still doesn’t.” He ran his hand through his hair. “My fault for choosing a rower, next time I’ll do the job myself. Well, what’s done is done. Welcome aboard, my lady.” Alyssa headed up the gangplank, Myles following sheepishly after he had retrieved his blade, and as she touched the deck, the captain held up his hand. “Before you board, do you actually know what your duty is?”

Red hair bobbed as she nodded her head briefly. “I fight the squid, you make sure we don’t sink before I get the chance.”

The captain laughed long and hard; “She fights well and she has a brain in her head, that’s more than Lord Keath’s boy ever showed.” Alyssa moved forward, and after the sun broke the horizon, a flag rose from the keep. The captain smiled, and raised his voice. “That’s the signal. Make sail and bend to oars.” The crew leapt to their tasks, and the _Dolphin_ was soon underway, falling into line with the rest of the ships as the fleet prepared to leave harbour. Standing at the prow, Alyssa stared out over the waters of Ironman’s Bay, face set and determined not to lose this chance to prove herself, come what may.


	4. The Sunset Sea

Alyssa had done her fair share of sailing. Near Pennytree the Widow’s Wash deepened enough for boats, and when the weather was hottest the children of the village would take to the water. The Red Fork was peaceful and the current gentle, the boat rocking gently as they sailed to one of the many islands dotting its centre and went for a swim before returning.

 

Ironman’s Bay was not the Red Fork. Even protected by the Cape of Eagles, the wind and waves rushed in from the west, and Alyssa found herself often stumbling. Then the _Dolphin_ passed beyond Ironman’s Bay and entered the vast grey expanse of the Sunset Sea, and Alyssa learnt what true sailing was. A dolphin was a graceful creature, leaping joyfully over the waves and treating the mighty ocean as if it were a small lake for all the worry it did. When she first caught sight of the river galley _Dolphin,_ Alyssa had expected her to be as swift and light as her namesake.

 

She could not have been more wrong. Resembling more of a whale than a dolphin, the galley rolled badly over every wave, rocking and pitching, and more than once Alyssa nearly stumbled and had to grab hold of the mast or a nearby crewman to keep her feet. The few times she grabbed hold of a crewman, it was greeted with amused smirks, and leaning against the mast, she looked up to see the captain standing there, chuckling at her misfortune. 

 

“Too rough for you, girl?” She went to reply, but the ship heeled again, and even the captain lost his balance for a moment. Carefully, he moved over to her and looked into her face. “Truth be told, I expected you to be green at the gills by now, if not losing your last few meals over the side.”

 

Finding the strength to stand upright unaided for a moment, Alyssa drew herself up proudly. “I may be a bastard, but I have the blood of rivers, the day I retch on the water is the day it snows in fucking Dorne. I’ve done plenty of sailing before, but this is no river.”

 

“Ha!” The captain gave a short bark of laughter. “That it certainly is not.”

 

The  _ Dolphin  _ rolled again, and Alyssa grabbed at the mast once more. “Rougher than I expected, though.”

 

With an experienced eye, the captain examined the horizon. “And it will be rougher yet before we reach the Iron Islands, that is, if we reach them.”

 

“What do you mean, if we reach them?” Alyssa had a sinking feeling in her stomach.

 

“You don’t know much about boats, do you?” The captain looked her in the eyes, and rolled his own as she shook her head. “As I thought. Look girl, ships designed for the open sea have deep, curved bottoms, or hulls, allowing them to dig into the water. This makes them more seaworthy and stops them rolling like a drunkard every time a tiny wave hits them.” 

 

Alyssa nodded, understanding him so far. “We, on the other hand, are built for rivers. Since they are calmer and shallower than the sea, we don’t need a deep hull, as it would only get us caught on the bottom, so our hull is nearly flat, allowing us to travel through shallower water than the bigger sea-going dromonds or war galleys.”

He spat over the side. “Which is fine on the Tumblestone or on any of the Forks, but we’re a river galley, this ship wasn’t built for the deep seas.”

 

Fear flashed in Alyssa’s eyes as she looked around the vast mass of water surrounding them, now understanding she was on a very flimsy boat miles from land. “Then why are we here? Why did my father send river boats to invade the Iron Islands?”

 

The captain laughed bitterly. “If I had to guess girl, old Hoster was caught off guard by the king’s call, and needed every ship he could get as quickly as possible. With the Ironborn attack on Seagard, much of the Mallister fleet is at the bottom of the sea, and what remains can’t carry all the men needed to invade. From how every fishing boat and merchantman has been pressed into service, he obviously doesn’t have the luxury of choice. 

 

I heard that some petty lord heard Hoster needed ships, decided to get in good with him and mentioned that he had a few galleys available. Lord Tully would have ordered them to Seagard without another thought.” He spat over the rail again, this time with venom. “My guess is they forgot to mention the fact that the ships were river galleys.”

 

He moved to say more, before something caught his eye, and he squinted into the distance, before barking at Alyssa. “Girl, come here.” Wordlessly, Alyssa complied, worried by his tone. “Your eyes are younger than mine, what do you see?” Shading her eyes, Alyssa looked over the waves. She was about to tell the captain that she saw nothing, when a flicker of movement drew her attention, and she stared more closely. The ship moved on another wave, and as she jerked forward, only to be stopped by the captain’s hand gripping her belt, she saw it. Red cloth blowing in the wind, and water being parted by its passage.”

 

“It’s a ship!” As they drew closer, the sails came into view. “It’s a longship, it’s the Ironborn!”

 

The captain cursed, and Alyssa found herself learning a new insults, mainly aimed at the sea, the Ironborn and her father. “Which Ironborn, what flag are they flying under?”

 

Alyssa did her best, but the flag was flapping too much in the wind to see. The sail however, was a different matter. “I can’t see, but their sails are red, with a white spider on them.”

 

“A white spider?” Confusion was evident in the captain’s voice. “No Ironborn House has that.”

 

Shading her eyes against the spray of the sea, Alyssa tried again. “The sail is red, with a device in the centre. It’s white, it looks like a spider, it’s a white centre with lines running off it, like this.” Unconsciously, she spread her fingers, trying to show what she had seen. One glance had the captain slamming his fist into his palm in frustration.

 

“Damn!  By the Seven, I hope Lord Hoster takes the head of whoever sent us on this voyage, because they sent us to our deaths.”

 

“What’s going on?” Alyssa felt a sinking feeling in her stomach.

 

Angrily, the captain pointed out over the bow. “That ‘white spider’ is the bone hand of House Drumm, rulers of Old Wyk and one of the most powerful Houses on the Iron Islands. Their longships are twice our size, and ride the water better than we ever could.” Grimly, he looked her in the eye. “Make your peace with the Seven, girl, because we’ll be meeting them soon.”

 

“What are you saying?” Alyssa gripped her right hand angrily to hide the trembling. “Are you saying we have no chance?”

 

The captain laughed, but it was an empty laugh. “Chance?  Seven Hells girl, I’m still not sure the waves won’t sink us before it even reaches us, one hit from that will send us over.” He looked up at the sails with regret. “I’d try and run for it, but she carries more sail than we do, more oarsmen than we do, and the wind is at our back. If we turned, we’d be sailing into the wind, and we’d lose all our speed. It would be an even thing whether the sea or the Ironborn sank us.”

 

Biting her lip in an attempt to calm herself, Alyssa looked around, desperately trying to think of something. All she could see around her was grey, rolling ocean, waves slamming into the side of the ship. The  _ Dolphin  _ rocked dangerously, and the captain turned on the man at the tiller. ”Keep us pointed into the waves, you fool, unless you want to sink before we have a chance to take some Ironborn with us.”

 

“Doesn’t matter, we’re dead anyway”, the man mumbled, but at a glare from the captain, the man obediently turned the tiller, and soon the motion of the deck began to lessen. Alyssa looked ahead. Where the sea had been striking the side of the ship unopposed, the bow was now pointed straight into the heart of the waves, and the galley was slamming into the waves head-on, blunting the speed of both.

 

It was then that a desperate idea formed in Alyssa’s mind, and she grabbed the captain’s arm, pointing at the longship. “Ram her.”

 

“Are you mad, girl?” the captain asked incredulously. “I just told you we have no hope of beating that longship, and you want to ram her?”

 

“Yes.” Slowly, the captain turned his head, to see her face set. “You said it yourself, if they hit us we’re sunk, and we can’t outrun her. With the wind at our backs, we have as much speed as this ship can muster, so if we ram her head-on, we might stay afloat long enough to board her, it’s the only chance we have.”

 

As if the sun was breaking out, a smile slowly spread across the captain’s hardened face. “We’re dead men either way, but I’ll not surrender my ship without a fight; at least we can meet the Seven with swords soaked in Ironborn blood.” Turning away from her, he pitched his voice, addressing the assembled crew and armsmen. “Looks like we’re in for a swim lads!” Every man present began removing his armour, mail and helms being piled in the corner of the deck. Regretfully, Alyssa added her own half-helm to the heap. Once the last man’s steel was taken off, the captain raised his voice again. “Looks like we’ve got visitors. The Drumms have decided to come and bid us welcome to their seas. Lets show them what kind of welcome we Rivermen give to pirates and rapers, shall we? Every man bend to his oars.”

 

Cheering, the crew set to rowing and soon Alyssa discovered that she had only thought this ship was slow and clumsy. With oars and sail both moving hard, they made good time towards the Ironborn, and soon the longship was in clear sight. Armoured men lined her decks, and the captain laughed with joy as he saw her. “The Seven smile on us, girl! She can’t be dipping more than ten oars a side. The warships of the Iron Fleet that Lord Stannis smashed at Fair Isle, they carried over a hundred men, were we facing one of those, we’d be doomed. But this is just a longship built for shore raids, she can’t have more than thirty men aboard.”

 

Unconsciously, Alyssa loosened her sword in her scabbard. “That’s more than we have.”

 

The captain looked her in the eye grimly. “Aye, but as you just said,we have no choice.”

 

After a moment, she nodded. “I suppose that makes it simple then.” She cleared her throat, determined that the first order she ever gave would not be the squeak of a frightened girl. “Archers!” The crew continued rowing, and soon a small group of archers was assembled near the front of the ship, looking near naked in their boiled leather jerkins compared to the plate and mail of the Ironborn. They fitted arrows to their bows, and she raised her hand, waiting to unleash the first volley until it would do the most damage. Judging the distance as the two ships drew closer together, she chopped her arm down and they bent their bows. 

 

“Loose!”

 

Bowstrings twanged, and a ragged hail of arrows fell onto the longship, but most splashed into the water, short of their mark. Alyssa cursed at her error, but then let up a triumphant cry as one of the Ironborn crumpled, arrow in his leg. “Nock.” The archers hurriedly reached for more arrows. “Draw” she waited until every man had pulled his bowstring back. “Loose”. Strings smacked again and more arrows soared towards the longship. This time most of the shafts reached the deck, however, the Ironborn raised their shields and the arrows bounced off. Alyssa cursed, then turned to the archers. “Keep at it until your quivers are empty or until we ram her. It won’t be long once we hit before we do go over, so get ready to jump.” 

 

The men nodded, focusing on keeping up the plunging fire on the longship. Looking closely now, Alyssa could make out the figure of a tall man in fine armour on the deck. The Ironborn by now were running for their own bows, but they were shooting into the wind, and their arrows fell short. At the sight of the enemy shafts failing to find their mark, Alyssa felt the beginnings of a plan forming. “Do you have any more bows?” 

 

The captain opened a small bundle on deck to reveal four or five bows and as many swords. “I keep a few arms on board, bandits have tried to take us in the past, but we aren’t a warship, our main business is patrolling the rivers.” Snatching up a bow and a quiver of arrows, Alyssa returned to the galley’s bow. The captain followed her as she fitted an arrow to the bow, after roaring to the whoresons on his crew to keep rowing. Alyssa noticed him looking over her shoulder at the longship before he sighed. “It’s not working”. Following his gaze, Alyssa swore as she noticed what he meant. The archers were having no luck, arrows simply sticking into the Ironborn’s shields or bouncing off plate armor.

 

“The Ironborn have no fear of drowning.” The captain’s face was grim. “No man in his right mind would wear plate armour at sea, if they went overboard they’d sink like stones, but those cunts believe their Drowned God will take them into his halls, and welcome the idea.” He shook his head. “Arrows won’t do much good against that until we get close, and by then we’ll be about to ram her anyway. Thank the gods the wind is in her face, or we’d already be dead.” 

 

Alyssa’s gaze swept the deck, but the captain was right. The only man injured by arrows was the one hit by the first volley, and only because he was wearing mail rather than plate. He was dead now; lying wounded on the deck he had been unable to dodge as arrows rained around him, and an arrow had taken him in the throat as he tried to raise his shield. Unfortunately, that still left nearly thirty men facing Alyssa and her seven archers. She drew, then relaxed her bow as a plan came to her. “Give me another volley! Make them raise their shields!” Whether it was the adrenaline of battle, or the imminent possibility of death, Alyssa’s initial panic at giving orders had melted away, and she was shouting commands like her uncle would have. Seconds later her men had stopped sending arrows and had their bows drawn, ready. At her command, seven bows straightened and a flight of arrows soared towards the longship. Contemptuously, the Ironborn raised their shields again, which was just what Alyssa wanted.

 

Archery had never been her strong suit, and it was fortunate that this ship was outfitted with shortbows rather than the great longbows used in war, or Alyssa would never even be able to draw it. But as the Ironborn raised their shields, as the distance between the ships narrowed to thirty feet, as the volley neared the longship, Alyssa bent her bow, sighted and released. _Warrior, guide my shaft._ She may have only been imagining it in the heat of battle, but to her dying day she swore she felt something wrench her bow arm around as she released.

 

The arrow left the bow, soaring straight and true to pierce the eye of one of the Ironborn, his visorless helm providing no protection and his shield far out of place. Without a sound, the man collapsed to the deck and the  _ Dolphin _ ’s crew cheered. Alyssa reached for another arrow and turned to the archers. “They don’t have visors. Aim for the heads!” She nocked, drew and loosed again, but the magic of her first shot was gone, her shafts now flying far overhead, splashing into the water near the longship or embedding harmlessly into shields.

 

Her bowmen had better success, using her example and varying their fire to force the Ironborn to raise their shields, they succeeded in bringing down another three before the captain whistled. “Brace for impact!” Alyssa turned to the archers. “Bows will do no more good here, arm yourselves!” Throwing down her bow, they followed her example, grabbing up their weapons just as the Ironborn called out in alarm, realising that the smaller ship was not going to stop, but this knowledge came too late, as the two ships collided with a crunch.

 

As the  _ Dolphin  _ rammed head on into the bigger longship, both ships shook as if the fist of a giant had slammed into them. In some ways it had. Grabbing frantically at the rail as the ship lurched, Alyssa saw the Ironborn doing the same, and knew this was their one chance. “Come on!” Drawing her sword, she ran forward up the bow and leapt onto the longship,s deck. Swords and shields to hand, her men began to follow, charging onto the Ironborn vessel with a roar.

 

Greenlanders were cowards. All Ironborn knew this, why else would they wear light armor at sea? They feared drowning, unlike true men of salt and steel. The usual response of a captain spying an Ironborn longship was either to try and flee or surrender. If the ship was a larger war galley, they may instead try to stay at a distance, raining arrows on the Ironborn or circle to ram it from the side. Only once in history had a Greenlander fleet met the Iron Fleet head-on in battle, and that was Stannis Baratheon and the Royal Fleet at Fair Isle. 

 

Luring the Iron Fleet into a trap, the Master of Ships had proven himself worthy of his title, blocking the Straits of Fair Isle north and south with ships and crushing the Iron Fleet beneath his larger war galleys and dromonds. Never in all the memory of Ironborn had a smaller ship so boldly sailed to meet a longship head-on. When the river galley slammed into the longships decorative ram, the reavers were frozen in shock just long enough for Alyssa and three men beside her to leap onto the deck.

 

River’s Edge flashing in her hand, Alyssa struck first, her blade finding the gap between helm and breastplate, the man choking on his own blood as he sank to his knees. The warm blood splattered Alyssa’s hand, and she froze at the sight of her first kill. The sight of his fall seemed to spur the Ironborn into action, and axes raised, they swarmed over the deck towards her. “What is dead may never die!” Jolted out of her daze, she barely parried the first axe and suddenly her men were there, driving the Ironborn back with swords swinging and shields raised.

 

As the last armsman vaulted onto the longship’s deck, the river galley shuddered and the captain looked up to see the sail flutter and bend towards the right. _Wind is shifting. Fuck, within a few seconds it’ll be behind the longship, and then those iron cunts will have us._ He drew his sword and shouted at his rowers. “To arms! Get over there, leave your oars and get off! She’s going down!” Abandoning their oars, the crew began to snatch up weapons and run towards the bow. The third man had just landed on the longship’s deck when the sail went limp. The longship’s sails filled with wind, and with a grinding of wood, the bigger ship shoved the _Dolphin_ back. The two ships appeared to be sailing forward to ram each other again, but both captains knew differently.

 

The longship had the wind now, and her speed was rising with every second. With her sails blown back against her masts and no one at the oars, the galley was making hardly any speed. The waves rocked her viciously, and she may well have sunk on her own accord within moments. No one ever knew, because the Ironborn did not take chances like that. Sails streaming, the longship smashed into the  _ Dolphin  _ at nearly full speed as she twisted under a particularly strong wave. 

 

The  _ Dolphin  _ was a good vessel for a river galley, and she had stood up to the open seas and ramming the longship, when most similar ships would have broken up long before this point. However, even she had her limits, and they did not include being rammed by a ship twice her size. The longship’s greater size and weight told as the small galley rolled over from the blow, before breaking into pieces as the larger ship bore down on her. Twisting away from a spear thrust, Alyssa turned her head just in time to watch the last remains of the river galley  _ Dolphin  _ sink beneath the waves.

 

Strangely, this seemed to fill her with determination rather than grief. No way back now.  _ We are surrounded by water for hundreds of miles, with this the only ship within reach.  _ A quick glance to port confirmed that the remainder of the fleet was having similar problems. The majority of the river galleys and fishing boats were having a rough time of it, the three remaining Mallister longships cutting through the fray to aid where they could. However, they were too few, and many of the Tully fleet were damaged or sinking. The fates of the knights and men-at-arms who had been packed onto those ships were varied, depending on how many boats the ships carried and how much armor they wore. 

 

Those who had stubbornly refused to shed their plate and mail were paying the price, carried to the black depths without pause. Many more were struggling in the water, strong enough to fight against the weight of their half-helms and mail shirts, for a time. Some managed to shed their armor, throwing off their steel caps and pulling the ringmail over their heads, immediately finding the pull to the bottom removed. Those wise enough to wear only boiled leather were swimming without a worry, at least, those who could swim, which was not many. 

 

Most of the men had floundered in the waves for a few moments, unable to keep themselves afloat, before they sank to join those drowned by the weight of their steel, as their lack of swimming ability proved fatal. The two Mallister war galleys were plucking men from the sea where they could, but they were only two ships, and even if they could reach every man in time before they drowned, they simply did not have the room to take them all aboard.

 

Alyssa noted as the _ Dolphin _ sank that the majority of her crew were afloat, their captain among them, his order to remove their armour having saved their lives. An axe swung at her, and she deflected it before ramming her dagger into the man’s neck and suddenly she was forced to return her attention to the battle at hand. It was not going well. The longship bore ten oars either side, meaning twenty oarsmen and had ten fighters on her decks. Ordinarily, that would not be so bad.

 

However, in the Iron Islands, rowers were fighters, every man pulling the oars was an armed Ironborn, and now that the wind was with them they could abandon the oars and join the fray. All of Alyssa’s seven men had made it aboard, along with three of the _Dolphin’s_ crew, but they were ten against thirty, and clad in boiled leather against armoured Ironborn. Fortunately only the ten fighters originally on the deck were wearing plate, the oarsmen preferring lighter mail when pulling the massive oars, but it was clear that Alyssa’s men were outmatched, both in numbers and in arms.

 

An ironborn axe found its home in the skull of a Tully swordsman, and the man collapsed with a strangled cry. Angrily, Alyssa sidestepped and lashed out, piercing the mail at the joint of a spearman’s shoulder as his weapon thrust past her chest. Kicking him off her blade, she struck down the axeman in revenge and moved to find another target but knew it was hopeless.  _ No matter how many I kill, even if I kill two of theirs for every one of mine that falls, they have too many men.  _ Her blades went to work with a will, but by the time she had felled another three Ironborn, two of her own men had fallen. Before they had boarded, the constant arrow fire at the longship had succeeded in slaying five, and five more Ironborn had slain, since she had set foot on the longship’s deck, but that still left twenty, and Alyssa’s own men were down to five, including herself. Out of the corner of her eye, Alysa could see that the other Riverlands armsmen had noticed it too. Stepping back until their backs met, they raised their weapons and formed a defensive circle, surrounded on all sides by Ironborn, eyes devoid of any kind of mercy.


	5. Rubies and Bone

Sensing the Tullys fear, the Ironborn pressed forward, until Alyssa and her men were ringed on all sides by axe wielding Drumms, the bone hand on their chests appearing to be that of the Stranger, reaching out to grasp at the Tullys. _No._ Alyssa gritted her teeth firmly. _I will not die so easily, I will not_ _fail Father like this!_ Looking around the deck in desperation, her eyes lit upon her target, the commander of the Ironborn forces, identified by his crimson armor. 

 

Gripping her blades firmly, Alyssa launched herself into the ring of Ironborn, a warcry on her lips as she charged. “Remember Seagard! For the Riverlands!”  River’s Edge pushed a spear aside as her dagger rammed into an unarmored wrist in reply. Howling, the man dropped the spear and collapsed, exposing the back of his neck. A quick strike with the castle-forged blade broke his mail and spilt his blood over his chest, nearly invisible against his red surcoat. 

 

A roar came from behind her as the armsmen of the Riverlands rallied themselves for one last effort. Following behind her, they charged in a wedge, splitting their way through the Ironborn ranks. As they hacked their way through, men began to pull themselves up over the side and land on the deck, drawing weapons. Alyssa saw a familiar crude blade and smiled in relief. The crew of the  _ Dolphin  _ had finally arrived, their captain clambering onto the deck sword in hand. Less trained in arms than the Ironborn or the soldiers of Riverrun they may be, but they were still ten more men and ten more men at that point was a very welcome thing indeed.

 

Cutting through the last man between her and the Ironborn Captain, she kicked him aside to see a face she knew as crude sword swinging, Myles drove the armoured man across the deck. She moved forward to aid him, although he appeared not to need it. When it happened, it was sudden and brutal. The Ironborn’s shield swatted Myles’ stroke aside, before his sword came around and cut through the poorly forged metal of Myles’ blade like butter. As the big man staggered back, the remains of his ruined weapon still in one fist, the Ironborn captain struck almost contemptuously. Myles’ head rolled off his shoulders, before his body collapsed to the deck. The armored Ironborn lifted his blade and roared his triumph to the heavens. “What is dead may never die!”

 

Looking around, Alyssa could see her men beginning to lose heart at this, and knew she had to act now. Charging forward, she engaged his blade, answering his battlecry with her own. “For Tully and Riverrun!”

 

He parried her blow easily, and as he stepped back a pace, Alyssa had the chance to examine him. His armor was heavy steel, greaves, vambraces, gauntlets and breastplate with a full helm shaped like a skull. Disgustingly, human bones had been inlaid into the red steel, making him appear as a walking skeleton surrounded by blood. The bone hand of House Drumm was displayed over his breastplate and on his shield. When he saw her, he tilted his head and opened his helm. Alyssa took a step back in surprise as she saw the face under the steel. He was an old man, clearly over fifty namedays, hair and beard silver. However, his shield was raised as high as any other Ironborn, and the ruby-hilted sword in his hand ran hilt to point with blood.

 

“A woman?” The man laughed. “This is what the Tullys send at us, river boats, fishermen and a woman? No, not a woman. You are still yet a girl. Come, girl, lay down that blade and you will live, you’d make a fine salt wife.”

 

A shudder ran through Alyssa’s entire body at the lecherous grin the old man was giving her. Gathering herself, she pointed her sword at him. “I think I will decline your offer, whoever you are.”

 

Yellow teeth drew into a smile. “Oh, of course, how rude of me.” He bowed slightly at the waist, eyes never leaving hers as he mocked her. “I am Dunstan Drumm, Lord of Old Wyk. Now when you arrive in your Seven Heavens, you can tell them who killed you in the Drowned God’s name.” He brandished his sword. “Thousands of men have died on Red Rain’s blade. Ready yourself to join them.”

 

Alyssa gritted her teeth, determined not to show fear in front of her men, and tried to speak as she imagined her uncle would in her place. “I am Alyssa Rivers, natural born daughter of Lord Hoster Tully of Riverrun, and in my lord father’s name, the crimes of the Iron Islands against his bannermen will not go unpunished.” She settled into her preferred stance, acting far braver than she felt.

 

“I see.” The old man chuckled one last time, before he slapped his visor back down with a definitive clang. His voice echoed out from the helm, sounding fearsome. “Well then, if you feel you have the strength to avenge them, then come.” He set his shield and raised his sword. Alyssa sprang at him, longsword leading the way, intending for River’s Edge to push his sword out of the way before she drove her dagger into the joint between arm and breastplate. Faster than she would expect for such an old man, he blocked her strike with his shield, then lashing out with his own sword in reply. Alyssa barely parried it with her dagger before he was on her again, shoving her back with his shield as he struck down at her head. She dodged that one by jumping back, noticing as she did so that the fighting seemed to be at a stalemate. Many men were dead on either side, and the remainder seemed to be stopping as they watched the duel in progress.

 

His shield stopped her sword and her dagger stopped his own blade, and they continued fighting hard for some moments, trading blows viciously until they both stepped back for a respite. Breathing hard, Alyssa took note of her injuries. They were minor, but many, the worst a long cut down her side from a thrust that only a desperate leap had prevented from piercing her ribs. Looking over to her opponent, while his breaths sounded ragged from inside the helm, she could see no blood on him, the crimson plate armour having protected him from her return strikes.  _ Although _ she mused to herself while she had a moment to think,  _ even if he was bleeding, the red armour would hide it.  _

 

Lord Drumm took a heaving breath, and Alyssa narrowed her eyes. _He’s thrice my age at least, maybe I can outlast him. He wears heavy steel armour and carries a shield, he will tire long before I do._ Cautiously, watching every move he made, she took two paces back, placed her dagger between her teeth, stabbed her sword into the deck and began to bind her wounds with strips she tore from her cloak. Appearing content to wait, the Lord of Old Wyk simply stood there instead of trying to surprise her, confirming his exhaustion in her mind.

 

Plan firmly in mind, and wounds tended to as best as she could, she recovered her blades, readied herself and sprang at him again. Lord Drumm had clearly gained new strength from his rest, as his blows hit harder than ever. Alyssa raised her blade and struck down at the death’s head helm. Surprisingly, instead of blocking with his shield, Lord Drumm met her blade with his own. Weapons locked overhead, Alyssa strained, putting everything she had into trying to push his sword down.

 

Then she realized she had been tricked as pain exploded in her hand. With her attention diverted, Lord Drumm had slammed his shield into her fingers, the shock of the blow causing them to open against her will and release her dagger, the long knife clattering to the deck. Before she could move to retrieve it, an armoured boot shoved it forward, the dagger sliding across the deck out of reach. Cradling her injured hand, Alyssa looked back at Lord Drumm, and she could swear she saw a yellow grin under the helmet. Shaking her hand and taking a two-handed grip on her sword, she felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. His bloodied blade flashed down, and she leapt out of the way.

 

Backing across the deck, she ducked under a spar and thought of a new plan. She stood there, sword raised, waiting for him to come to her. Obligingly, the old Lord moved forward, shield held high and swung at her. Alyssa stepped back a pace out of range. The blade swished past her neck, and Lord Drumm advanced again. Alyssa jabbed her sword at him, feinting a thrust, and slashed low at his legs. Both attacks failed to do any harm, and Lord Drumm raised his blade, striking down in an attempt to split her shoulder to hip. Alyssa leapt to the side, smiling as Lord Drumm’s stroke carried his sword towards the spar.  _ That’s solid oak. Even castle-forged steel won’t cut it. His sword will be stuck, and I’ll have some time to work out a way out of this mess. _ The sword flashed towards the wood, and parted it like butter.

 

Dumbfounded, Alyssa barely regained her senses in time to throw herself away from the next blow. Getting to her feet, she noticed the severed section of spar on the ground, a wooden rod as thick as a man’s arm. The end was smooth, as smooth as if it had never been attached to a larger piece before. Unthinkingly, she voiced her next thought aloud. “Impossible. No sword can do that.”

 

Instead of pressing his advantage, Lord Drumm laughed. “None?” He angled the blade towards her, and light played down the weapon, illuminating off a distinctive rippled pattern that she had only heard about. Against her will, Alyssa drew back, heart in her throat as she realised the true danger of the situation she was in. Lord Drumm nodded, seeing the fear in her eyes. “Valyrian steel. Now do you see that you have no chance, girl? I told you, hundreds have died on this blade. Now, your blood will be the next to soak Red Rain.”

 

Raising Red Rain, he levelled the point at her chest, moving forward slowly, as a cat playing with a mouse, knowing he had no need to hurry. Alyssa backed away, her mind moving faster than it ever had before as she attempted to find a way out of this.  _ Valyrian steel. So much for trying to tire him, his weapon is lighter and stronger than mine, and could cut me in two simply by touching me, while I can’t even make a dent in his plate.  _ She glanced at her sword as she retreated.  _ And speaking of dents,  _ she thought ruefully, spying the telltale signs of scratches and nicks down the steel that resulted from collision with a Valyrian blade,  _ if this keeps up much longer, I won’t have a sword anymore.  _

 

Ducking away from another cut, she thought furiously. _How can I do this? He’s more experienced than me, more heavily armoured and better armed than me, and his weapon can cut anything I try to hide behind. What do I have? Well I’m faster and lighter, but he’ll catch me eventually, and one blow would be enough._ As she dodged around the mast, a thrust parted empty air. Twisting to the side to avoid another, she caught a glimpse of the mast. _Funny,_ she thought, _it looks like a large tree with the sails coming off it._ _Of course it does,_ Alyssa scolded herself, _it started life as a tree._

 

It was then that a memory came to her, of when she was just a girl. It was a year after her uncle had first come to Pennytree, and he was just beginning to construct his watchtower. In order for the building to begin, several large trees needed to be removed from the area. Too young to aid in the cutting, Alyssa moved back and forth delivering tools and water as needed. At length, the workers reached a particularly large oak, a tree almost as great as the one that gave Pennytree its name. Sword and mail absent, Brynden Tully hefted an axe, sweat pouring down his face, and signalled for one of the villagers to move around the other side.

 

A third man moved closer carrying metal wedges, and Alyssa watched in amazement as her uncle worked in unison with the other man, axes chopping partway through the truck, before the third moved up and hammered in wedges as they rested. The length of time this took had her tugging on her mother’s gown. “Why can’t they just chop it down?” Instead of answering, her mother retrieved a branch from the ground. 

 

“Imagine this is the tree”. Alyssa nodded eagerly, and her mother snapped it, the break halfway through so that the two pieces were still connected. Bending them, she opened the joint further until it was sufficient for her needs. Taking a saw from the pile of tools, she placed the blade between the two pieces and pressed them back together, then offering the hilt to Alyssa. “Try and cut through it.”

 

Alyssa pulled at the saw, but her mother bore down on the branch, the two pieces trapping the saw blade between them, and her young strength was insufficient to move it. “I can’t”.

 

Nodding, her mother pointed at the branch. “That’s the answer. As you cut through the tree, the weight of the rest pushes down on your saw, or axe, or whatever you’re using, and you can’t move it.” She spread the two pieces slightly, allowing the saw room to move. “However, if you keep the tree open with wedges”, she sawed through the remainder of the branch easily, and dropped the two shortened sticks. “It’s much easier.” The sound of men shouting drew their attention back to the tree, as with a final axe blow and the sound of cracking wood, her uncle felled the mighty oak with a shout of triumph. Around him, everyone else cheered and Alyssa was drawn back to the present.

 

Lord Drumm had gotten more clever about his attacks, and with no choice left, Alyssa winced at the sound as she parried with River’s Edge. Using one of the few advantages she had, the weight of her weapon compared to the lighter Valyrian steel Red Rain, Alyssa pushed Lord Drumm’s arm aside and used the time to back up again, briefly studying the mast.  _ Solid oak, and very wide. This might work, but it would be all or nothing, if it doesn’t work, I’m finished.  _ She smiled grimly to herself as she weaved away from another attack.  _ Then again, if this doesn’t work, I’m out of ideas, so I’m dead either way.  _ She set her jaw.

 

_ If I’m going to die, I’ll die on my own terms. _ Twirling her sword in her hands, she moved towards Lord Drumm, eyebrow raised in challenge. Obliging her, the Lord of Old Wyk moved closer and slashed. Alyssa skipped aside, and beckoned him forward again. He attacked and she danced, knowing that precise aim was key to this plan, and centimetres could mean her life.  Jumping back from a cut aimed at her neck, she felt her back hit hard wood, and realised she was backed up against the mast. Fully aware of the position of advantage he now found himself in, Lord Drumm raised Red Rain over his left shoulder and slashed down in a brutal but efficient stroke intended to open her shoulder to hip.

 

Eyes narrowed, she judged her moment carefully, then at the last second, threw herself to the side with all her strength. As she landed on the deck, she hissed in pain, but then rolled over, quickly getting to her feet. What she saw as she rose brought a smile to her face. Her plan had worked perfectly, the beyond sharp Valyrian steel had sliced most of the way through the mast before its weight had come down, trapping the blade. Grunts and curses came from the death’s head helm as Lord Drumm tugged on the crimson sword. Given time, he could free it, or even abandon it, take a weapon from a fallen Ironborn and finish her. Alyssa did not mean to give him that time. Taking a deep breath, she lowered her shoulder and charged, screaming in fear and desperation as she slammed into his breastplate with all her might. 

 

A slightly built girl in boiled leather weighed nothing compared to the bulk of a full-grown man in plate, but Lord Drumm was off-balance, leaning back as he pulled on Red Rain with both hands, and Alyssa’s aim was perfect. Her shoulder slammed into his chest, causing her to wince as she felt something give from hitting the heavy steel, and with a grunt, Lord Drumm staggered back. Alyssa had her heart in her mouth as she watched him fall back. It was a distance of five paces to the side. He stepped back once, twice, then seemed to her horror to regain his balance as he slowed. Her heart sank as he set one foot down, using it to stop himself two paces short of the side.  _ I’m dead.  _ Suddenly, the sun gleamed onto the deck, and Alyssa noticed a dark stain on the wood.  _ What the… _ Before either could react, Lord Drumm’s armoured boot landed on the stain and slid. 

 

It was only a small movement, but still slightly off his balance, and encumbered by the weight of his armour, it was enough. His foot slid out from under him and he stumbled back. His back hit the side of the longship, and he toppled backwards over the low side, where with a shout of surprise and an enormous splash he was gone, the weight of his armour taking him straight to the Drowned God’s watery halls. 

 

Alyssa blinked, almost unable to believe what had happened, before a glance to the deck made her laugh. Myles’ body lay near to where Lord Drumm had slipped, the dark stain the pool of his blood formed when Lord Drumm took his head off.  _ Even in death, he had his revenge.  _ She bowed her head in silent thanks, but realised she couldn’t afford to rest yet as the sound of water being disturbed had drawn the attention of every man aboard.

 

The Ironborn shouted in surprise and dismay, and the Rivermen roared, the captain leading them in a charge towards the demoralised Ironborn. Raising River’s Edge, Alyssa joined in with all the strength she had left. Within a few moments, the Ironborn had shaken off their shock, but by then the men of the Riverlands were among them, swords slashing, roaring their battlecries. 

 

As Alyssa risked a glance over the side, she could see that the sea battle was finally being resolved in their favour. Lord Jason had pulled his war galleys away from rescuing survivors, and formed them into a wedge with his longships, using them to smash Ironborn ships. An axe slashed close to her face, and she was forced to return to the battle at hand; even though Lord Drumm was dead, the Ironborn still vastly outnumbered her men, and were beginning to rally. Alyssa cut and parried, her men having found new strength with Lord Drumm’s defeat, the Ironborn shouting in defiance as they struck out, intending to sell their lives dearly.

 

Breathing heavily, Alyssa rested on her sword for a moment, looking around the deck. The last Ironborn had finally fallen, but the price had been dear indeed. Of the seven Tully armsmen who boarded the longship, two were left alive, and including the captain, only three of the  _ Dolphin _ ’s crew had survived. The man in question walked over to her, wiping the blade of his longsword on the breeches of a fallen Ironborn. “Well done, my lady.” He bowed his head to her, and Alyssa went nearly white with shock.

 

“I am no lady, ser, just a bastard.”

 

The man smiled, a true smile this time. “And I’m not a bloody ser, just a captain, or I was.” His face sagged for a moment, before he seemed to regain his control. “My ship is lost, but some of my crew still live thanks to you” He gestured, encompassing the longship with a wave of his hand. “What are your orders, captain?”

 

Alyssa shook her head vehemently. “I’m not captain, you are.”

 

An amused smile broke out onto his lips. “I lost my ship, remember? By the Ironborn’s own laws, you paid the Iron Price for it. It’s yours now.”

 

Alyssa opened her mouth to refute that, but a glance to the mast made her eyes twinkle as she thought of a solution. “Then my first order, get some men to the mast and start pushing, Lord Drumm left something there I mean to claim.” Following her gaze, the captain smiled and gave the orders. A mast was a heavy thing, but eight strong men pushing was able to lift it the hair’s breadth needed so that Alyssa could slide out her prize before they let it fall back down with a groan. Holding it aloft with a triumphant grin, she examined it closely. 

 

Red Rain was Valyrian steel that unlike what she first thought, was not soaked in blood. Blood ran down the blade true enough, but the steel itself had had crimson hues worked into it during the forging, and was the colour of fresh blood. The hilt was silver, covered in rubies, the pommel and ends of the guard each tipped with a larger ruby. Taking a scabbard from a dead Tully armsman, Alyssa slid Red Rain in, and finding that it fitted well enough, buckled it across her back.

 

She then turned to the captain. “I paid the Iron Price for this sword and this ship, but I know nothing of sailing, and I only have them because you sacrificed yours. So I give this ship to you.”

 

The captain’s jaw flapped wordlessly, before he nodded, and began barking orders. “We lost too many to crew this ship, we’ll never make it to the Iron Islands. Get all the men to the side with oars and what ropes are aboard, there are hundreds of survivors in the water. Mayhaps a few will agree to row for us.”

 

Snatching up an oar, Alyssa followed the crew, and soon the decks were nearly lined with men, gasping and dripping wet. One of the Mallister war galleys came aside to collect the survivors, the battle now over, and soon all had been taken aboard save twenty who had gratefully agreed to crew. The next order of business was to see to the dead; throwing the Ironborn bodies over the side, while Alyssa did what she could for their own fallen. 

 

She was no septa, but she said what words of the  _ Seven-Pointed Star  _ over them that she remembered, before they too were given to the waves, although with a good deal more dignity. The men bent to their oars, while Alyssa aided in further tying down the damaged mast to prevent it from collapsing, before they resumed their journey towards the Iron Islands.


	6. Rivers of Iron

The skirmish aboard the longship was Alyssa’s first taste of real battle, and even after all the fighting she did during her life, on her deathbed she still remembered it vividly as not only her first battle, but one of the most brutal ones. The fighting had been fierce, true; however, when she was asked about the rest of the Greyjoy Rebellion, she would only say that it was a pointless bloodbath.

 

Harlaw was the largest and most populated of the Iron Islands, and Lord Rodrik Harlaw had thousands of reavers and hundreds of longships at his command. Even with the loss at Fair Isle, he had managed to call together a decent force, and the docks were lined by hundreds of grim-faced Ironborn hefting axes. However, against the numbers the Riverlands could muster, it proved no more effective than attempting to halt the sea with a stick. Lord Jason’s longships and cogs beached beside Alyssa’s captured longship, thousands of Mallister armsmen eager for vengeance disembarking. If viewed from above, their charge would appear to be a silver and purple tide, with dots of red and blue as Alyssa’s men joined in, quickly swallowing up the inferior numbers of men wearing the silver scythe of Harlaw on black.

 

A bare few minutes of fighting had the docks in Mallister hands, and Lord Jason’s men fortified the harbour, the Lord of Seagard declining to press the attack until Lord Hoster arrived with reinforcements. He was not waiting long. The next morning, cheers rang out as hundreds of ships with sails striped in the red and blue of Riverrun arrived, merchantmen and fishing boats mainly, but all had been packed full of soldiers as tightly as they could. Lord Hoster Tully was first to reach land, his brother beside him, and columns of armoured men carefully crossing gangplanks after that, Alyssa gasping at the rare sight of the massed power of the Riverlands.

 

Forty-five thousand men the Riverlands could field; if they stripped their lands bare, and  _ aside  _ from the Freys every Riverlord was enraged by the attack on Seagard, giving generously to the host. Hedge knights and sellswords, minor lords eager for glory, even Blackwood and Bracken had put aside their feud so that the might of the Riverlands might be brought to bear against the island of Harlaw. Even with only a scarce few days to muster their men, the lords of the Trident had still gathered twenty thousand hungry for vengeance.

 

It may even have been excessive; with the loss of the Iron Fleet and the majority of his strength, Lord Rodrik had at most a thousand men. Knowing that he lacked the strength to defend Ten Towers, he instead sent the majority of his forces to the docks, gambling that he could stop the Tullys from landing at all. However, with his gambit having failed he was down to less than five hundred, many of them old men judged unfit to sail with the fleet. But old men or not, they were Ironborn, and Ironborn did not surrender. Lord Hoster’s attempts to parlay with Lord Rodrik were met with curses and arrows, and the Tully host was forced to storm the crowded collection of keeps otherwise known as a castle, that formed House Harlaw’s seat of Ten Towers. Lord Harlaw did not yield his seat easily, the Ironborn bleeding the Rivermen heavily for each tower they took, but the end result was inevitable. Lord Rodrik was dragged from his solar, and thrown swordless at Lord Hoster’s feet along with the last few of his men.

 

Silver plate splattered with blood, Lord Hoster Tully regarded the Lord of Ten Towers as Alyssa would regard a shit on her boot. Steel hissed on leather as Brynden Tully drew his sword and placed the tip against Lord Rodrik’s throat. Standing on her father’s left, Alyssa copied her uncle’s action, resulting in a cross of blades in front of the Ironborn Lord. Hoster’s only acknowledgment of this was a tilt of his lips, invisible under his helm. Slowly, unconcerned for any attack Rodrik might make and comforted by the presence of his family members with drawn swords, Hoster removed his greathelm. He handed it to a nearby squire, the boy grunting slightly under the unexpected weight of the trout-crested steel. 

 

Face now clear, he stared straight into Lord Rodrik’s eyes, the other man refusing to look away. “Rodrik Harlaw, Lord of Harlaw. In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I , Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Trident, arrest you for the crime of treason. Come with me to face his Grace’s justice, or you and or your men will be adjudged guilty, and executed here and now.” His gaze became hard, his eyes seeming in that moment to spear straight through Rodrik’s chest. “Do you yield, my lord?”

 

Rodrik Harlaw raised his head, and in his eyes, Hoster saw no resistance. “My sons died at Fair Isle, my men died at the docks and my garrison died in my halls. I have no reason to fight, and nothing left to fight with.” His head turned as the sword slung over Alyssa’s back drew his gaze, before he gave a short laugh. “And if you are carrying that sword, girl, that means that the rest of the fleet is destroyed and Dunstan Drumm is dead.” Greying hair fell over his eyes as he shook his head. “Hundreds of years Drumms have carried that blade, and a girl takes it from you, Dunstan. Hilmar the Cunning must be turning in his grave.” With a humourless chuckle and a sigh, he bent his knee and held his hands out, ready to be bound.

 

From the time Hoster arrived with the fleet, the submission of Harlaw had taken less than a day; the longest part of the whole procedure had been unloading the stone-throwers. The other attacks were going similarly well; Tywin Lannister had subdued Saltcliffe in his brutal yet pragmatic fashion, Mace Tyrell was drowning Orkmont in tides of roses and Barristan Selmy led the Crownlands levies to a decisive victory on Old Wyk. Eddard Stark and the North had taken what few ships Seagard had left and by now had landed on Blacktyde, Stannis Baratheon had followed up his brilliant victory at Fair Isle with an equally efficient capture of Great Wyk, and King Robert had made a landing on Pyke itself.

 

With the Iron Islands all but subdued save the Greyjoy seat itself, King Robert intended to gather his strength before striking at Lord Balon’s castle, and commanded his lords to join him at Pyke with all their power. After a day’s sail, Alyssa was dumbfounded at what she saw. When her lord father’s host had arrived at Harlaw, she was sure that nothing could stand against the numbers assembled there. The forces assembling to invade Pyke put her father’s levies to shame. The crowned stag of Baratheon flew over the burnt remains of the town of Lordsport, his Grace having subdued House Botley’s seat in order to secure a safe landing for troops and siege weapons. He had plenty of both. Harlaw was a day’s sail from the Iron Islands, and so Lord Hoster was the first high lord to reach King Robert, having left a small garrison to hold Harlaw in King Robert’s name, however others quickly joined.

 

Balon Greyjoy’s rebellion was the greatest war since the Targaryens fell, and lords great and small came flocking, hungry for glory. Soon the air above Lordsport was almost choked with the number of banners; there was the Lannister lion, Tyrell rose, Tully trout, Stark direwolf and Baratheon stag, the sigils of the rulers of the Seven Kingdoms, but hundreds of others joined them, too many to count. Red and gold, green and yellow, blue and red, black and gold, grey and white, armsmen in all liveries flooded the camp, and many times Alyssa found herself forced to use her knife on men who could not understand that she was not there for their pleasure. By the time Ser Barristan Selmy arrived with the lords of the Crownlands and the Narrow Sea, the royal forces numbered over two hundred thousand. 

 

When the battle finally came, the only thing Alyssa remembered of it was how dull it was. Oh it was dangerous, no question, and the Ironborn fought as well as others she faced later in life, but it was a battle both sides knew was pointless. The greatest part of Lord Balon’s strength had died at Fair Isle, the Ironborn fought with ships, not knights like greenlanders. From the beginning, his strategy had been to use his naval strength to his advantage, sinking any ships sent and preventing Robert from landing troops. When Lordsport fell, he must have known his defeat was certain, but just like Harlaw, he was Ironborn. 

 

He pulled back his forces into his keep and prepared for siege. King Robert did not intend to besiege Pyke. His stone-throwers brought down a tower, before making a breach in the great walls of Pyke itself. First to charge through the gap was a robed man with a sword that was seemingly aflame, followed by a bearded Northman. Alyssa winced at the sight, and touched her own sword, as if to reassure herself that she would never ruin her blade that way, then there was no more time to think as she followed the tide of armed men into Pyke.

 

House Greyjoy’s seat was a collection of towers, similar to Ten Towers, but had one advantage the seat of House Harlaw lacked. Where Ten Towers was built on the mainland, the towers of Pyke sat on seperate sea stacks, connected by rope bridges easily cut or narrow stone walkways held near effortlessly by a few men. The Ironborn fought hard, no question, fought brutally like cornered rats who knew they could expect no mercy, and extracted a bloody toll from the royal forces for each tower taken, but it was all for nothing.

 

Wooden bridges were brought up from the camp to cross the gaps, armoured knights broke the lines of Ironborn holding the walkways, and ever onwards Robert’s host pushed, flooding into Pyke like the sea itself. The fighting lasted all day, and Alyssa was wearily wiping her sword in a room temporarily cleared of Ironborn when a Baratheon knight came running through the castle, excitedly shouting to all that the war was over, that Balon Greyjoy had surrendered. Heading to a window, Alyssa smiled, leaning on her sword in exhaustion as she watched the Sea Tower lower its banners, the golden kraken on black soon replaced by 

the crowned black stag on gold.

 

It was later in the evening, when she was sharpening River’s Edge, having notched it on an Ironborn’s helm, that a messenger came, informing her that King Robert required her presence, along with many of the other survivors of the battle. Swiftly, she sheathed her blade and stood, following the man to the ruins of Lordsport. The spectacle before her took her breath away. 

 

King Robert had burned the town to the ground in order to secure a base for his army, and tens of thousands of tents filled the charred remains. In what was once the town square, hundreds of knights and armsmen stood at attention, waiting for the king’s word. On a crude stage quickly assembled, King Robert himself stood, his great warhammer in hand, surrounded by his Wardens and Lords Paramount, a small group of bound prisoners off to the side. Alyssa recognised Lord Harlaw among them. The page who summoned Alyssa beckoned her to a spot at the back, and grumbling in annoyance and surprise, the men moved over to make room for her. Soon the last of the men arrived, and at some unseen signal, King Robert stood, and Alyssa got her first true look at the King.

 

He was massive. That was her first thought, he stood over six feet tall, and swung a warhammer in one hand, a weapon so great Alyssa doubted she could move it even with both hands. Black bearded, his armour was heavy steel plate. His helm was in the hands of a fair-haired squire, a great thing with long horns sticking from the sides. He cleared his throat, and when he spoke, his voice was booming, reaching even those at the back with ease. 

 

“Men, thank you all for coming. I have called you here today to witness the end of Balon Greyjoy’s pretensions as  _ King of the Iron Islands _ .” He spat. “There is only one king of all Westeros, Greyjoy, and you stand before him, traitor.” He gestured, and a thin man in ragged clothes was dragged onto the stage, chained hand and foot but disobediently refusing to kneel.

 

A guardsman struck him on the back of his knees with the butt of his spear, forcing him to the ground. Cursing, he stared up into Robert’s eyes unblinkingly. “You may take my head, but you cannot name me traitor. No Greyjoy ever swore fealty to a Baratheon.”

 

Robert’s face reddened. “Swear one now or lose that stubborn head of yours” he roared, and as Alyssa quailed along with many of the men around her, she could see why the Baratheon words were “Ours is the Fury”, Robert’s was terrible to behold. Lord Balon stayed motionless for a moment, then got to his feet, Robert checking his guards with a wave of his hand. He stared at Robert for a moment more, then slowly dropped to his knees, bowing his head in token of submission.

 

Robert nodded in satisfaction. “As you have said, Lord Balon, you swore no fealty to me, so I cannot name you oathbreaker or traitor. Therefore, I hereby pardon you of the crime of treason, along with all the surviving lords of the Iron Islands who followed you. However” his voice turned grave, and for a moment, storm clouds seemed to flash in his eyes. “Lawful or not, I would be a fool if I released you and withdrew my forces, allowing you to rebel again in a year’s time. You and all the other lords will each be required to give up a hostage for your family’s good conduct, and the prisoners taken during the war will be held until such time as their House’s loyalty is certain.”

 

Lord Balon sank a little lower at hearing this, and he was freed of his chains, before being led away along with all the other Ironborn lords to organise the sending of the hostages. Robert pounded the handle of his hammer on the stage for silence as the men had began to murmur. “Enough. On to other matters. You men present have served me valiantly, and House Baratheon rewards courage.” He beckoned, and a crier stepped forward.

 

“Jorah Mormont, of Bear Island!” The Northman Alyssa had seen enter the breach stepped forward, kneeling before the King. 

 

“Jorah Mormont, your courage today was seen by many.” The fair-haired page brought forth a sword, and Robert drew it from its scabbard, tapping the point on Jorah’s shoulder. “In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave.” The men present began to applaud as they realised what was happening, and the noise drowned out the rest of the vows as King Robert knighted the Northman. “Arise, a knight. Arise, Ser Jorah Mormont, of Bear Island.” The applause grew greater, and King Robert pounded the stage again. “Silence!” 

 

The crier read from a long scroll, calling out the next name. “Jacelyn Bywater!” A man with a bandage wrapped around the place where his sword hand should be came forward, kneeling with a grimace.

 

“Jacelyn Bywater” began the King. “you were gravely wounded in the service of the Crown, but even wounded, your courage on the field of battle inspired many to fight on.” He raised his sword again, and soon Ser Jacelyn stood, smiling now despite his wound. That was the last man knighted by King Robert, but hundreds more Sers were born that day, dubbed by the knights of the Kingsguard for valiant service to the Crown, or their lieges for faithful service to their lords. Stannis Baratheon, Mace Tyrell, Tywin Lannister and even her own lord father were kept busy, blades rising and falling as man after man swore to be brave, just, to defend the young and the innocent and to protect all women while their lords recited their brave deeds. Many gave Alyssa funny stares at the last vow. Eddard Stark had it easier, the North not holding to the Seven meant he was no knight himself, and could not lawfully make others. He instead stared watchfully at the Ironborn lords off to the side, Valyrian greatsword ever ready.

 

Finally, as the sun began to sink beneath the Sunset Sea, Mace Tyrell dubbed a Redwyne squire a knight, and the crier called her name. “Alyssa Rivers.”

 

Pushing her way through the crowd of new knights, Alyssa made her way forward, well aware of the curious stares she was getting from many. Emerging from the masses, she strode forward and gracefully bent her knee to King Robert, the training pounded into her head since childhood bearing fruit. “Your Grace.”

 

Head cocked to the side, King Robert regarded her as one would a strange animal in a menagerie. “Unusual, to see a woman on the battlefield.”

 

“Man or woman, the Seven made us to serve, Your Grace” Alyssa said, her head bowed. “These Ironborn scum attacked my home, and a woman’s need for vengeance burns just as hot as a man’s.”

 

“It’s customary for a lady to curtsey when addressing her superiors”. King Robert’s face was unreadable.

 

“Fortunately for us both, Your Grace, I am no lady.” Alyssa drew her head up proudly. “Just a bastard with some skill with a sword.”

 

King Robert cocked his head to the side again. “Why is that?”

 

Alyssa smiled. “Because I never learned to curtsy  properly, Your Grace, thought it was a waste of time, so I’d shame both of us.”

 

“Ha!” King Robert gave a short bark of a laugh. “You have Hoster’s fire all right, you must be his.” His face became serious. “Alyssa Rivers, natural born daughter of Lord Hoster Tully. You have slain Dunstan Drumm, Lord of Old Wyk in combat and contributed to the destruction of the last fragments of the Greyjoy fleet. This allowed Lord Hoster Tully’s men to land and therefore aided in the capture of the island of Harlaw. Any man with your actions and courage, I’d grant lands and a knighthood.” 

 

The reactions from the men watching were mixed; some cheered, some screamed in protest and many just murmured until Robert slammed the stage for silence, causing the hastily built structure to creak in protest. “However, no woman in history has ever been knighted, and I don’t know whether or not there is a rule against it, and the High Septon’s not here for me to ask.” He rubbed his chin bashfully. “And the High Septon isn’t here, so I can’t ask him. However” he smiled now. “From what Hoster tells me, there’s something you want far more. I’ve consulted with him, and we both agree it’s a fitting reward.”

 

_ Could he mean… _

 

Alyssa’s heart seemed to stop as King Robert handed her a scroll. A page handed her a knife wordlessly, and slitting the crowned stag seal, she began to read as King Robert cleared his throat. “Alyssa Rivers, by the word of Robert of the House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, from this day until your last day you are Alyssa Tully, daughter of Hoster Tully, Lord Paramount of the Trident and Lord of Riverrun.”

 

For a moment, Alyssa found herself unable to breathe, the shock of getting what she had dreamed of her whole life had frozen her to the spot. Eventually the sound of her father clearing his throat drew her attention, and she looked up to see him offering her another, larger scroll. She split the seal, this one the leaping trout of Riverrun, and unrolled the scroll to find, to her surprise, a map of the Riverlands, with a small area marked out.  She glanced into her father’s face, to see him smiling. 

“You are a trueborn daughter of Riverrun now, Alyssa, and you need a dowry to match. This map shows a portion of House Tully’s lands that have been granted to you, along with a ladyship to help you make a fine marriage. They are good lands, and when your sons or grandsons build a keep there, they will be one of Riverrun’s most important lords bannermen.” 

 

Gently, Alyssa rolled up the scroll, her eyes filling with tears. “Father, I…”

 

Lord Hoster sighed. “None of that now, you earned what you have, now don’t dishonor either of us by crying.”

 

Alyssa nodded, blinking back the tears. “Father, Your Grace, thank you, both of you.”

 

King Robert laughed deeply. “As Hoster said girl, you earned it. But I do have one question, what do you intend to do with that?” He gestured to Alyssa’s back, where the hilt of Red Rain jutted up over her shoulder. “I’m sure House Drumm will want it back.”

 

Alyssa fingered the pommel in thought. “If your Grace orders it, of course I will return it to them.”

 

Robert’s eyebrow rose. “And if not?”

 

Determined, Alyssa set her jaw. “If not, then I paid their damn Iron Price, and if they want it back, they can fucking well do the same. I’ll be waiting.”

 

Unconsciously, her hand brushed the hilt of River’s Edge, and Robert burst out laughing. “Are you sure this is a girl, Hoster? She’s got bigger balls than many men I’ve met.” He shook his head in mirth. “Arise, all of you! Arise, new knights and arise, Lady Alyssa Tully of the Red Fork”. As one, the newly dubbed knights began to cheer at their good fortune, and Alyssa rose, cheering along with them. King Robert’s next announcement only doubled the joy. “Break open the wine! A barrel for each man!”

 

As the men cheered, Alyssa’s eyes casually passed over the stage. However, her eyebrows rose when she saw Lord Tywin Lannister. From the moment she had knelt in front of the King, the Lord of Casterly Rock’s eyes had not left the hilt of Red Rain.  _ That might be interesting later. _

 

King Robert dismissed everyone, and the knights poured from the square to find wine, whore or both as suited them. Alyssa remained behind, having no taste for alcohol or desire for whores, and a need to see to her sword after the battle. She was still sliding the whetstone up and down the blue steel hours later, trying to erase the last of the nicks in the blade, when a voice called out from behind her.

 

“Lady Alyssa?”

 

Still unused to her new title, it took her a few moments to respond, before she put down whetstone and sword and stood. “Yes?” She turned to see a blond man in a crimson cloak, evidently a Lannister or a relation holding out a scroll towards her. She took it, noting the golden wax lion holding it closed. 

 

“Lord Tywin Lannister requests your presence at his camp immediately.” The man bowed and left, leaving Alyssa to gather up sword and whetstone, sheath her blade and then hurry after him, mind already working furiously as she made plans for her meeting with Lord Tywin.

 


	7. The Price of Steel

When Alyssa had received Lord Tywin’s summon, her first thought was to travel to him immediately, but after thinking on it further, she realized that could be a fatal mistake. Tywin Lannister’s reputation was a fearsome one, and for good cause; the Rains of Castamere were not written about his kindness and mercy. To place herself in the heart of the Lannister power on Pyke risked Tywin simply having her killed and taking what he wanted. While the odds were not high as she was a Tully now, and if she disappeared, followed by Tywin acquiring Red Rain, King Robert would ask some pointed questions, it was not a risk she was willing to take. Tully now or not, she was the youngest child of, in all honesty, one of the weakest Great Houses. House Lannister, on the other hand, was the richest Great House, and was joined to the Crown through marriage. King Robert may well decide not to risk his goodfather’s wrath over a former bastard.

 

Instead, she took some time to clean herself up in the Tully tents, knowing that she should not appear before Lord Tywin covered in sweat and blood, and as a safety measure, informed her uncle of where she was going. Ser Brynden’s eyebrows raised when she outlined her plan.

 

“Hoster won’t be pleased, he expects you to gift that sword to House Tully. He has been grinning at the thought of getting a Valyrian blade in the family, it will be something he can be proud of, something to set the Tullys apart from those old Houses like the Arryns or the Lannisters. Giving it to Tywin Lannister...he will be vexed with you, to say the least.” He paused. “And what you plan to get in exchange… you know he’s already planning your marriage, don’t you? Bastard or not, you’re a Tully now, and your marriage is a tool he can use for the family. Your hand could be used to reward one of our bannermen, or to tie one of our more rebellious vassals closer to Riverrun.”

 

Alyssa’s face was drawn. “Will he disown me?”

 

Brynden Tully raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been refusing him for over ten years, and he hasn’t disowned me yet. He won’t be pleased, and you may find yourself as welcome in Riverrun as I am” his lips tilting slightly, “but he shouldn’t disown you. And those lands are yours now, unless you decide to commit treason or start letting bandits run amok, they can’t be taken from you no matter Hoster’s hurt feelings. Not gifting Red Rain to House Tully, is not treason. Although it may be foolish.” A brief chuckle escaped his lips. “However, he may blame it on me, stubborn old goat will find some way to make this my fault.” His face broke into a kind smile. “ So if this works out, I hope you’ll always have room in your home for your old uncle, as this will cement the fact that I’ll never be allowed back in Riverrun while Hoster breathes.”

 

“You don’t even have to ask, uncle.” Alyssa embraced him in a fierce grip. “I swear, you will always have a home as long as I live.” She released him and took a deep breath. “I should go. If you don’t hear from me in an hour, please send a force to the Lannister camp.” Brynden promised that he would, and Alyssa left the tent.

 

The Lannister camp was as one would expect. Lord Tywin had spared no expense to make the men of the Westerlands have a more luxurious stay than even the king, great pavilions of scarlet and cloth of gold as far as the eye could see, guarded by Lannister men in crimson cloaks and lion half-helms. Her blue cloak drew gazes from many, but enough Lannister men had been present at the ceremony of knighting that the word of who she was had spread. While she was still watched cautiously, the knowledge that she was a lady highborn kept the guards at a distance, allowing her to wander the camp as she pleased. However, when she approached the largest tent, an enormous thing with Lannister banners flying from the posts, she found her path barred.

 

Two Lannister guardsmen in full plate stood in the way, pikes crossed to block her path. Their shields were steel, displaying the golden lion of Lannister, and castle-forged longswords hung at their belts. These were clearly the elite of the Lannister men, and they were well trained, as their helms swung up to look straight at her. “You approach the tent of Tywin of the House Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport and Warden of the West. State your business.”

 

Men began to slowly move into position around her, and Alyssa held her hands up, well away from her sword. _This could go wrong very quickly._ Taking a deep breath, she decided that if the guards were using Tywin’s full title, she should be equally formal. “I am Alyssa of the House Tully, Lady of the Red Fork, daughter of Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Trident. Lord Tywin has summoned me for an audience.” She held up the scroll, and the guard’s head tilted, before he nodded and lowered his weapon.

 

Pike still pointed at her, although no longer uncomfortably close, he raised a fist and rapped hard on a portion of the tent pole covered by the flap. It rang, indicating metal under the cloth, and a richly dressed blond young man stuck his head out. The guard had a few muttered words with him, and was allowed into the pavilion. His companion gripped his pike tighter and Alyssa waited nervously for a few moments, before the first guard emerged. “You may enter”. Returning to his post, the two uncrossed their pikes and moved aside, allowing her access. Alyssa stepped into Lord Tywin’s pavilion with wonder.

 

The first thing she noticed about it was the size; Lord Tywin’s pavilion was larger than her mother’s house. The interior was as opulent as the exterior, gilded tables, chairs and a proper bed rather than a bedroll. Apparently Lord Tywin did not intend for the hardships of a campaign to deprive him of his luxuries. At the centre of the tent was a large table, gold of course, with the legs worked in the shape of lion’s heads. There, upon a golden chair so great it could have been a throne, sat the Great Lion of the Rock himself, writing on a parchment.

 

Alyssa had seen him earlier today of course, but he still left her in awe every time she saw him. Where Robert was black haired and bearded, and covered in muscle, Lord Tywin was slim, but steel still showed in his body, his head was hairless, and his green eyes seemed to drill straight through her. She had heard it said that Lord Tywin had been mistaken for the King more than once while sitting the Iron Throne as Aerys’ Hand, and she could believe it too. The man now in front of her looked more like a king than Robert Baratheon ever could, his very aura demanded respect. Sanding his parchment, he put down his quill and glanced up. “Lady Alyssa”. He tilted his head slightly.

 

“Lord Tywin”. Alyssa bowed in return, a bow as deep as the one she had given the King. Lord Tywin’s face did not change, and Alyssa inwardly gulped. _Right, he was Hand of the King for nearly twenty years, false courtesies won’t affect him._ She swallowed briefly. “You summoned me, my lord?”

 

Face nearly expressionless, he raised a hand and pointed to the blade strapped across her back. “Lady Alyssa. I think you know why you are here, so I’ll be brief. Red Rain. I want it for House Lannister.”

 

Pulling Red Rain from her shoulders, Alyssa placed it down on the table, and then Lord Tywin’s face did show emotion. Reaching towards the blade with a shaky hand, he unsheathed it partially, staring into the blood-red steel as if nothing else mattered. “Do you know what this is?”

 

“A Valyrian steel sword?” Alyssa found herself confused by his tone. “Called Red Rain, former property of House Drumm.”

 

“House Drumm”. His lips curved and a smile threatened to break out on his face. “You really don’t know, do you?” He shook his head. “Of course you don’t, else I doubt you’d have had the courage to walk into my camp carrying this.” Putting the sword down, he turned to a large chest in the tent, extracting a heavy leatherbound book. “Even since Brightroar was lost, I’ve researched all the Valyrian blades in the Seven Kingdoms carefully while searching for a replacement.” he said, flipping pages. Finding the one he wanted, he nodded to himself and held it out for Alyssa to see. An excellently done drawing of the sword on the table covered one page, followed by a long description of the sword and its history.

 

“Red Rain came into House Drumm when Hilmar the Cunning took it from an armoured knight with nothing but a cudgel.” Tywin closed the book, that strange look still on his face. “That is all the book says about the origins of Red Rain, but in the Westerlands, we know more. House Reyne of Castamere was the second richest House in the Westerlands, and when I destroyed them for their treason, I was surprised to not find Roger Reyne wielding it in battle. I thought it might still be sealed in Castamere, before I heard of an Ironborn House with a Valyrian sword called Red Rain, then I knew why. They lost it hundreds of years ago, and hid the fact from the West. I tried many times to purchase this sword from House Drumm, and they refused me every time, the responses growing more and more mocking.”

 

Tywin shook his head. “And now a girl takes it from them.” His eyes narrowed. “I must ask, how did you manage to defeat Lord Drumm?”

 

“I dodged around the mast and Red Rain got stuck. I charged into him and pushed him back, he slipped on a pool of blood and fell overboard. His armour did the rest.”

 

“Luck then”. Tywin shook his head disdainfully, before tilting his head slightly. “But however it was done, Red Rain is yours, and now you offer it to me. The last piece of House Reyne’s legacy on this earth. Their keep is burned, their mines flooded, their House extinct. I have destroyed every remnant of the Reynes of Castamere, save this.” His hand rested on its hilt for a moment. “The last of House Reyne’s legacy, serving House Lannister.” The threat of a smile appeared once more. “Now that you understand how important this sword is to me, I will not insult you by bargaining, the mines of the Westerlands are deep so name your price.”

 

Alyssa had thought long and hard about this over years, during her lessons about the Riverlands and House Tully’s bannermen, and had come up with a plan to implement should her dream ever come true. It took her moments to even consider them, sure she had dreamed, as all children did, but known they’d never come to fruition. Now, all she had wanted, all her secret hopes of raising her father’s House’s position and power was within her grasp, this piece of crimson steel the key to her goals. However, if Lord Tywin refused to meet her terms, her dreams could just as easily vanish. What happened in the next few minutes would determine her future; if she messed this up, everything was lost.

 

With a silent prayer to the Crone to grant her the wisdom to speak truly, she took a deep breath and began. “As you say, my lord but the chance to destroy the last of House Reyne’s legacy is worth more than mere money. This will take some time to explain. Do you have a map of the Riverlands, my lord?”

 

Tywin merely snapped his fingers in response, and a well-trained page, standing hidden among the tent flaps, scurried off, returning soon with a small table and a large map scroll, which he unrolled for them, weighing down the corners, before he bowed to Lord Tywin and retreated once more. Alyssa bent over the map, Lord Tywin following her with curiousity.

 

“I’m sure you’re wondering, my lord, why I am even here, offering Red Rain to you instead of presenting it to my lord father.”

 

Tywin cocked an eyebrow in lieu of response.

 

She glanced over the map, before tapping the spot where her lands would be with a smile, attempting to hide her nerves. Since the history of Riverrun and the reason for her plans was well known, she decided to begin with that, familiar territory at first to ease her into things. “While my father would rejoice to have a Valyrian blade for House Tully, I think he will be happier to see the Riverlands secured.” She gestured to the Golden Tooth. “As you no doubt know my lord, since your merchants frequently travel through the Riverlands, we are weak to an attack from the west.” Tywin nodded for her to continue. “Riverrun was originally built to defend against attacks from the Kingdom of the Rock, and did so successfully, but ever since it became the capital of the Riverlands” her hand indicated the castle in question.

 

“Riverrun’s effectiveness has been reduced. Originally, the Tullys would bleed enemies as they laid siege to Riverrun, buying time until the River Kings mustered their levies and marched. However, now that it is the seat of the Lord Paramount of the Trident, and the place where armies will be mustered, it is the target itself. House Lannister’s armies can march up the River Road and lay siege before we can have our armies assembled. The Twins, Seagard, Darry, Harrenhal and even Atranta and Willow Wood, all serve a purpose and protect one of our borders.

 

She took a deep breath, throat growing sore from this talking. “All of our other marches have strong castles defending them, that can at least hold the foe at bay long enough for House Tully to call our banners and march in support. However, in the west, if House Lannister marches, Riverrun itself is the first castle in their path. The only other Houses closest to the Tooth are House Vance of Wayfarer’s Rest and House Piper of Pinkmaiden, and House Vance’s wealth has decreased over the years; the Rest is in poor repair. Pinkmaiden is a stronger, modern castle, but it is a castle, not a fortress. Neither have the strength to defy the might of the West, and by the time our other bannermen could muster, you could close the River Road easily.”

 

A raised hand cut her off at that. “I understand the state of the Riverlands better than you do, girl.” Lord Tywin’s growing impatience as he stared longingly at Red Rain was obvious. “Edmyn Tully was given a broken mess of a region by the Targaryens, and for three hundred years House Tully has been trying to hold it together. The area around the Tooth, save Riverrun itself; is weak, and ever since Hoster scorned Walder Frey, Riverrun has been without the support of its strongest bannerman.

 

The only thing protecting the Riverlands at this point is your sister’s marriages to Ned Stark and Jon Arryn, two men King Robert is rather fond of. Should, for example, I attack the Riverlands, the North and Vale are honorbound to aid you, and King Robert will have to intervene before three of his Wardens come to blows.” He shook his head in frustration. “I understand the situation perfectly well, get to your point.”

 

His eyes seemed to burn green fire in his impatience, and Alyssa decided to hasten things along. “My lord father has granted me lands in a spot advantageous for the Riverlands, and I mean to strengthen the defences of the Riverlands. My price, my lord, is in two parts. Stone, and honour.”

 

Lord Tywin raised an eyebrow. “You have my attention.”

 

Alyssa tapped the map again, a spot on her lands between the River Road and the Red Fork. “The problem is, there is no castle between the Tooth and Riverrun. The first part of my price is that House Lannister will fund the construction of my seat.”

 

“Construction of your seat?” Lord Tywin’s eyebrows drew together.

 

Her face grew serious. “My dream is something slightly smaller than Riverrun, though in the end it is not the size that concern me, but the quality. High, thick walls, solid stone to build from, expert builders; no expense spared to make the strongest castle possible. Luxuries aren’t needed, this is to be a fortress, not a mere castle, a place where our bannermen can, for example,  gather to beat House Lannister back should you come marching down the River Road.” She spread her hands wide. “It will likely cost hundreds of thousands if not a million gold dragons, but since you offered much more than that…”

 

The Lord of Casterly Rock’s face was unreadable. “And the other price?”

 

Alyssa took a cautious breath, this was where Lord Tywin could take insult and everything could go wrong. “Alliances protect land just as stone walls and swords do. House Tully has ever sought to protect with parchment and marriages what we could not with our own strength. The rest of my price is that you swear, as Lord of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands and Warden of the West, that no army of the Westerlands will cross my lands without consent, or attack my seat while you breathe.”

 

Lord Tywin raised an eyebrow. “You think to protect the Riverlands by blocking the River Road with a castle and an alliance.”

 

“Yes, my lord.” Alyssa continued. “I can’t stop you entering the Riverlands entirely, but taking the Gold Road instead lengthens your journey by weeks, giving Father valuable time to prepare.”

 

“And what if I refuse?” Lord Tywin leaned forward, and his eyes seemed to burn green fire as they stared directly into her. “You have come into my camp, unguarded and armed only with a sword.” Tywin pauses for a moment, as if to size up Alyssa. His next words are measured and careful. “Do you know how much the King owes House Lannister? Even if you knew the number I doubt you’d appreciate the full meaning. So if your father made a fuss about his freshly legitimized bastard disappearing, King Robert wouldn’t dare risk me calling in that debt without proof. So I ask you, girl; what is to stop me from taking that sword? ”

 

Alyssa gulped, well aware that her life was now hanging by a thread. She cleared her throat. “Because I told my uncle Ser Brynden where I was going, and that if I did not return in an hour, to bring a force of Tully men to the Lannister camp in search of me.” She looked over his shoulder at his richly decorated timepiece. “More than half of that time has now passed. King Robert may not risk your wrath without proof, but when House Lannister is seen with my sword, even you, my lord,won’t escape his justice.”

 

Alyssa decided to take a gamble. She reached out and took Red Rain off the table, hoping that her bluff would fool him. “It seems that we cannot reach an agreement, my lord, so it appears I will be presenting this sword to my lord father after all.” Straightening up, she turned as if to leave the tent, only for Lord Tywin’s voice to halt her in her tracks.

 

“If you think that fools me, girl, then you are the fool. I served as Hand of the King for twenty years, I cannot count the number who have tried this trick”.

 

Sheepishly, face burning red at her ruse being discovered so easily, Alyssa turned back to the table, and put the sword down once more. Tywin ran his hand over the rubied hilt. “A Valyrian steel sword for House Lannister, the last piece of House Reyne in my hands.” He went silent for a moment and Alyssa held her breath as face inscrutable, the Great Lion of the Rock came to his decision. “I accept your offer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies, but posting may be slower in the weeks to come. Assignments are coming due, leaving little time for writing.


	8. Cunning Lion and Wise Trout

Alyssa let out a great sigh of relief at his answer, and things moved very quickly after that. Lord Tywin called in a maester to hear the deal and write up the terms, which both looked over and agreed was fair. Alyssa suddenly had an idea. “Would you please make three extra copies of this, Maester?”

 

Tywin raised an eyebrow. “Foolish girl, when a Lannister makes a bargain, we make a bargain. You need no insurance against betrayal” With a disdainful sniff, he simply looked at the maester and nodded once, indicating that the man should do as she said. When he was finished, they both looked over the copies, ensuring they were identical. They were the same as the first; a simple outlining of the terms, Tywin’s oath, his authorization for Alyssa to charge any expenses related to building her castle to House Lannister and Alyssa’s statement that she granted Red Rain to House Lannister in perpetuity in exchange for the above terms. The maester inspected each of them to on the safe side, and declared them lawful and legally binding. Tywin set his seal to each of them and signed in an elegant hand that showed years of a maester’s careful training.

 

Lacking a personal seal currently, Alyssa unsheathed River’s Edge an inch, nicked her thumb on the blade and dipped her quill into the blood welling from the cut, signing in her own blood.

 

“That was unnecessary, my lady.” Lord Tywin’s face remained impassionless, he could have been impressed by her dedication, or irritated by her dramatics, with him it was difficult to tell. She signed the other three copies, dipping into her cut each time for fresh blood quickly before the blood stopped flowing, and Lord Tywin blew on them and sanded them. Satisfied that the signatures were legible, he folded up his copy and placed it in his desk.

 

Alyssa rolled up her own copy and pushed it into her belt. She gestured to the two remaining copies. “I can deliver my lord father’s copy myself, my lord, but would you like me to deliver King Robert his copy or would you prefer to do it?”

 

“I will see to it myself.” Lord Tywin’s attention was now on Red Rain rather than on her, and Alyssa decided to end things before he grew too distracted.

 

“If that is all, it was a pleasure, my lord.” As she turned to leave, a ray of light from the tent’s entrance seemed to fall upon Red Rain, and the rubies on the hilt sparkled in the sun, the flash of the crimson steel causing Alyssa to halt briefly as she remembered something.

 

A clever man, this did not go unnoticed by Lord Tywin, who glanced up from the sword he was admiring. “There was something else?” The mild irritation in his voice was clear, and Alyssa decided that voicing her question was safer than remaining silent.

 

“My lord, why did you destroy the Reynes? I understand wiping out their family for rebelling against you, but why tear down Castamere? Surely you could have given it to a loyal family as a reward?”

 

For a few moments, there was only silence, and just as Alyssa was slowly moving to leave, fearing she had overstepped her bounds, Lord Tywin spoke. “The Reynes have been dead for more than thirty years girl, and yet only a handful have ever asked me that. Most condemn me and don’t feel the need.” He looked her up and down for a moment, before seeming to nod to himself. “I like you, girl, so I will give you some advice I have given to only a handful besides my family.” Alyssa nodded, breathless, and Tywin raised himself in his chair, staring down at her as she sat there. “When your enemies defy you, you must serve them steel and fire. When they go to their knees, however, you must help them to their feet. Elsewise no man will ever bend the knee to you.”

 

The tent was silent for a moment, Lord Tywin content to wait for Alyssa to absorb this, before she asked the question he knew she would. “Then, why…”

 

He cut her off with a raised hand. “Why did I do it?” He shifted in his chair, and the sunlight fell over his form, the Lord of Casterly Rock appearing, for a brief moment, to be carved from the same unyielding stone as his castle. “Because they never did bend the knee.” He frowned, and Alyssa could see his aged hands clenching into fists at his sides, around the hilts of weapons not there. After a moment, he breathed deeply and seemed to calm himself. “And leaving Castamere a ruin, while not in the best interests of the Westerlands, was the best thing for House Lannister.”

 

You Tullys talk about family, duty and honor, but remember girl, duty, honor, love, glory, they are fleeting, and perish when you do. The one thing, the only thing that survives you, that lives on as your legacy, is the family name. Remember that girl” Lord Tywin finished firmly, and Alyssa nodded solemnly, before bowing her head in respect. “Thank you, my lord, this has been a pleasure.”

 

Lord Tywin nodded briefly, attention already on other matters. “Indeed, my lady. I wish you all the best.” Alyssa bowed, and left the tent. As she departed, she heard the sound of a sword being unsheathed, and smiled at the thought of Lord Tywin sitting there staring at Red Rain in wonder.  Her path turned back towards the Tully camp, both eager to show her lord father what she had done and nervous of his reaction.

 

Lord Hoster’s reaction was as Brynden had predicted, he was wroth at the potential loss of a Valyrian steel sword for House Tully, and it took days on the journey back before he would speak to Alyssa again. However, after he read the scroll, as the Tully host prepared to leave Seagard three days later, he called her to him and grudgingly agreed she had done the right thing, offering the hospitality of Riverrun should she need a place to stay while her keep was being constructed.

 

Over the next three years, Alyssa took him up on that offer, spending the occasional night at her family’s seat and getting to know her brother during the process. Edmure was a kind man, although soft-hearted, and although he would never admit it, he missed the company of the sisters he had grown up with. With Catelyn in the North, Lysa on her mountains and the Blackfish in Pennytree, Hoster and Edmure were the only Tullys left in Riverrun. When Alyssa came to stay, Edmure gladly embraced his third sister as family, and made her promise to write to him often.

 

Hoster’s kindness had an unintentional effect. Stubborn as his brother, Lord Tully would never admit it, but seeing Alyssa and Edmure sparring together tugged strings in his heart as he wistfully remembered doing the same with Brynden under their lord father’s gaze. Every time Alyssa demonstrated her skills, Hoster was reminded that it was Brynden’s training that had made her what she was, and that although he refused to marry, he was still serving House Tully.

 

As the two laughed and raced each other to swim across the Red Fork, he recalled memories of Catelyn and Lysa doing the same, and of Edmure valiantly struggling to match sisters years his senior. Alyssa was the one to bring up the rear now, vainly trying to outrace a brother nearly three years her elder, a man grown against a girl a head shorter.

 

Hoster refused to answer when asked, even on his deathbed, but the truth was Riverrun had grown quiet with his daughters departing for their husbands seats, and he missed the sounds of laughter in the halls, even if his children were now grown. As the years went by, if Hoster noticed Alyssa’s visits grew more common, or the frequent ravens flying between brother and sister, he said nothing, but the wall around his heart after Minisa’s death slowly began to crack. It was almost as it had been before the Rebellion, minus of course the Baelish boy, who Hoster did not miss, and Brynden, who if Hoster was honest with himself, had raised the children while Hoster was busy with his duties. _Now that I think on it, his lack of marriage was a blessing. Much as I hate to admit it, I couldn’t have coped with the children and the Riverlands, he gave them a face to put with the words family, and a friendly ear to go to when they needed to talk._

 

Men referred to Hoster Tully as a stubborn old goat behind his back, and the comparison was apt. He could hold a grudge for years, and it was only with his dying breath that he and Brynden made peace. However, he could bend without giving up, and so three years after Alyssa had first set foot in Riverrun, months before her castle was completed, he sent a raven to Brynden, informing him that if he wished to visit Edmure for his twenty-second nameday, he was welcome to do so. The message was simple, and short, but to Brynden it said far more, just as Hoster knew it would. Brynden’s exile was over, and he could return to Riverrun.

 

When the Blackfish arrived at the gates weeks later, the Lord of Riverrun greeted him with an almost perfunctory inquiry as to his married state, before both brothers crushed each other into an embrace. While they denied it afterwards, the guards on the walls told the story. At every opportunity, Hoster brought up Brynden’s lack of marriage and mentioned possible betrothals, just as he had before Brynden had left for Pennytree years earlier, but to those who had known them back then, such as Maester Vyman, both brothers seemed happier.

 

It was if a tiny piece of themselves had been missing in their acrimony, and their reunion had made them whole again. They still quarreled, and were as cross with each other as ever, but Hoster almost seemed happy to have Brynden back to quarrel with again. It was remarked later by the maester that those years where the majority of Hoster’s direct family was with him were the happiest the Lord of Riverrun had been since the Rebellion.

 

Gravely wounded by Jon Connington in the Battle of the Bells, he had hovered at the door of death for nearly a week after, and was confined to the maester’s chambers drinking milk of the poppy for two moons after that. Left alone, and uncomfortably aware of how close he had come to joining his dear Minisa, his thoughts turned to her, and he had found himself mourning her death anew. His daughters had left and Edmure was training at arms, so had little time to speak with his father, meaning that Hoster was left alone with his grief, throwing himself into his duties. The sounds of his children laughing and bonding, however seemed to blow new life into the lungs of Lord Hoster Tully, and he threw himself into moulding Edmure into the next Lord of Riverrun. His son and heir was a decent fighter already, but he needed to learn to lead an army, to rule and to manage a war. Hoster also took to the training fields once again, and realized that he’d let himself grow soft in his grief. He tasked Brynden with getting him back into fighting shape, and the Blackfish did so brutally, Hoster needling him with jibes and jabs at his lack of marriage whenever Brynden looked to be going easy on him.

 

Lord Hoster crawled into his hot bath at night with moans and bruises aplenty, but the pain was worth it. Slowly, his skills returned to a level they hadn’t been at since Jon Connington struck him down at Stoney Sept. He even faced Alyssa on the sparring field, and his daughter quickly found out that although old, her father was a wily snake on the field who still had a trick or two to show her.


	9. Interlude - Riverlands Map.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned before, I will be busy in the next week or so, so updating will be slow. To make up for it, and aid in understanding the upcoming chapters, I'm posting my map of the land controlled by the various Lords of the Trident, including their strength, and Alyssa's new lands.
> 
> As many of these Houses do not have confirmed locations in either the books or show, I have done a lot of guesswork/logical placing to determine which House rules that area. As I'm sure others have their own opinions, feel free to comment below whether you feel I've made a mistake, its early days yet so I can easily change things.
> 
> I should mention by the way, that the troop numbers given are NOT their fighting men, that is the total number of men that House could field if they emptied the fields and garrisons, and scraped the barrel for every man that could hold a spear, including boys and old men. The men of fighting age are likely to be roughly 80% of that. 
> 
> Also note that I only include the ruling House of that area. So while House Vance of Wayfarer's Rest has the lordly House of Smallwood sworn to them, their forces are counted as part of House Vance's. Of course, whether or not they answer when the call comes is another thing entirely :D
> 
> WARNING: Responses may contain spoilers for A Song of Ice and Fire up to and including A Storm of Swords and/or Game of Thrones up to and including Season 3

 

 

The Riverlands as of 289 AC. Dotted line indicates Alyssa's lands and location where her castle will be.

 

By the way; I know House Butterwell has no lands anymore, as of this moment those lands are currently overseen by House Whent. I just felt it important to distinguish between them and land actually ruled by Harrenhal, so I put a name there.

                                


	10. Colors of a Dolphin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long delay! Not only did I have my final assignments to deal with, my beta reader's came immediately after. Hopefully three chapters make up for the wait. Enjoy!

Even in her twilight years, Alyssa looked back on those days spent at Riverrun as some of the happiest memories in her life. However, all good things must come to an end, and nearly four years after the building had begun, Alyssa’s seat was completed. The results shocked all present, including Lord Tywin’s brother, Kevan, who had come to inspect the results of House Lannister’s coin. Built backing onto the Red Fork, the basic design of Riverrun had been duplicated in that a new branch of the river had been dug, allowing the Red Fork to totally encircle the castle in a moat a hundred feet wide from walls to bank 

 

Alyssa had chosen the location of her seat well, and it now guarded one of the only fords across the Red Fork near Riverrun. This did mean that the moat was shallow, and could be waded across unlike the deep rivers that surrounded her father’s castle, but at a hundred feet wide, her archers would have plenty of time to shoot freely. Just like at Riverrun, the river ran through the southern wall, a water gate preventing any access by boat to those without her consent. The inner and outer walls were twenty-five and thirty-five feet high respectively, and ten feet thick, filled with rubble to absorb the impact of a battering ram or catapult strike. Unlike House Tully’s seat, however, they were square rather than triangular, the walls encircling the great keep, itself square. 

 

At each of the four corners of the wall, square towers rose high above the wall, thirty feet high on the outer wall and forty feet on the inner, providing a space to house the watchmen. Where there were no towers, there were catapults and scorpions, their deadly bolts ready to rain death on attackers. The great keep itself was seventy-five feet in height, made of the same thick stone as the rest of the castle. Unlike the red sandstone of Riverrun or the white marble of the Eyrie, Alyssa’s new seat was built of solid blue-grey granite, stronger than sandstone and less expensive than marble but more difficult to carve, requiring huge numbers of men and a massive amount of time. Fortunately, Lord Tywin had provided one and Alyssa had had the other. Mindful of his brother’s decree not to waste coin on unnecessary luxuries, Ser Kevan gave an approving nod at the sight. The drawbridge was solid oak, the thick wood preventing axes or grapples from finding purchase. As they crossed to inspect the inside, the murder holes in the ceiling of the gatehouse made him involuntarily shudder at the thought of being caught by a shower of boiling oil. 

 

The gatehouse itself was high, the thick oaken gates banded with iron set into a side wall inside it. The passage led to a second gate, before making another turn to the right to reach the inner gate. Due to the angle of the outer gate, a trebuchet would find it impossible to get a shot off at it, and the small space of the passage, wide enough only for two on horseback side by side, was insufficient for a battering ram. The only way to breach the gates would be a hand-held ram, and each of the three were protected by a portcullis, hard cold-rolled steel. Alyssa did not envy any man trying to breach them with a tree trunk, while her garrison poured boiling oil or water through the murder holes. Likely water, oil was expensive, while the Red Fork made a supply of water easy to access.

 

The interior was as sparse and utilarian as the exterior; simple blue carpets covered the granite floors, which would scratch boots otherwise, the windows simple arrow slits. Atop the wall, thin wooden frames covered the outsides of the wall, something Alyssa was informed was a defence against grappling hooks, as the hooks would catch on the fragile wood and the weight of a climbing man would break the frames. A small lip of stone ran around the outside of the wall, with holes dotting its length to allow the garrison to shoot at men standing directly below them. The great hall was housed in the lower levels of the great keep narrowing slightly nearer the top to allow Alyssa an unparallelled view over her seat, and of her lands for miles around. Nearly a hundred could be seated in her hall, while the upper levels could house two hundred or so of her household knights and their families. The keep were decorated in the same style as the rest of the castle, simple blue carpets covering the rough stone floors.  Four small turrets rose from the keep, one housing the maester and his ravens, while another had room for what few books she would collect.

 

The one exception of the castle’s spartan furnishings was Alyssa’s solar at the top of the keep, where she was delighted to see the one luxury she had requested when construction began. Taking up half the solar was a large table with a masterfully done map of the Riverlands, the depiction of rivers and hills of the highest quality, every Tully bannerman’s seat accurately placed. Wooden markers carved to resemble the sigils of the Houses holding the keeps sat over each castle, to allow Alyssa to track which lords held or had lost their seats. Other than that, there was a simple bed, rack for her weapons, fireplace for when it grew cold and a balcony, looking out over the Red Fork towards the east. From the top of the keep, the crowned stag of House Baratheon flew from the tower, and just below that, the leaping trout of Tully, indicating Alyssa’s allegiance to the Crown and the Lord Paramount of the Trident respectively.

 

The rest of the castle met Alyssa’s expectations; the sept was small, but adequate for her needs, while the stables, granaries and barracks were large. Alyssa judged that this castle could hold a force of thousands of men for a few months or a force of hundreds for several years if fully stocked. Ser Kevan wondered to himself how a castle of this size could hold so much food and so many men, but the answer was both simple and immediate. The old saying was true, you could not get something for nothing, and their extra size had come at the expense of a godswood.

 

A proud follower of the Seven rather than the Old Gods, Alyssa had no need of one, and accepted the price gladly. The training yard was moderately sized; she wouldn’t be holding any tourneys, but there was room to move around while sparring. The ravenry was currently bare, but had room for maybe twenty birds. She made a note to herself to contact the Citadel and request a maester as soon as possible. Arrow slits were prominent in the walls, along with murder holes on the ceilings.

 

Their tour complete, Alyssa followed Ser Kevan back over the drawbridge, where they stood looking across the river at the finished castle. The Lannister knight was the first to speak. “What say you, Lady Alyssa?”

 

Alyssa was almost lost for words, looking at her new seat. “Beyond my wildest dreams. Lord Tywin has certainly made good on his word, as expected from a Lannister, I wouldn’t want to be the one tasked with taking this castle.” She looked anxiously at Ser Kevan, aware of a potential problem. “Does it meet your lord brother’s approval? He did say not to waste coin?”

 

“Hmmm…” Ser Kevan rubbed his chin for a moment, and Alyssa held her breath. “My lord brother told me that it was to be strong and well-defended, but not ornate or wasteful. I saw no waste in what has been done here, save the map table, and that would have cost a hundred dragons at most. Compared with the total cost of this project, I doubt Tywin will care.” He looked up as something caught his eye, something as yet unnoticed by either of them, and addressed one of the builders nearby. “You there? What’s that?” 

 

He pointed to a recess in the wall above the gatehouse, mayhaps five feet wide, ten feet long and two feet deep. The builder glanced up, before his face lightened in understanding. “That, milord...oh, that. That’s for when Lady Alyssa gets a banner, we can carve it in stone and put the blocks there. Dependin’ on how tricky it is to draw, might take a few hours or a few days.”

 

“Now that he mentions it, that is something we ought to discuss” Ser Kevan turned to Alyssa. “If you mean to be one of Lord Hoster’s vassals, then you can no longer use the Tully trout, you must have your own banner. You should also name your seat, we’ll need to know what to mark on our maps.”

 

“A banner…” This was something Alyssa had thought long and hard about, and with nearly four years, she had had time to do so. One of the builders found quill and ink somewhere, and with everyone staring at her, she cleared her throat. “It was aboard the river galley  _ Dolphin  _ that I encountered Lord Drumm, and it was sunk during the battle. Dolphins can be creatures of the river as well as the sea, and they are a fine choice for a sigil.” 

 

She sketched out the shapes of a flag and a shield both, to demonstrate the two shapes a banner needed to be. She divided the flag vertically, marking the left section to be coloured red and the right to be coloured blue. In the middle, passing through both sections, lay a dolphin with its head pointed towards the red, that she noted was to be its natural colour of grey. 

 

A few moments with some scissors and cloths gave a crude impression of what her banner would look like, and Alyssa nodded with satisfaction at the sight. Ser Kevan raised an eyebrow at the image before him. “The red hills of the Westerlands and the waters of the Riverlands, guarded by a dolphin meant to be you. My lady, you aren’t shy about announcing your intention to oppose House Lannister, are you?”

 

Alyssa snorted. “Lord Tywin knew what I was planning when I came to him with my offer, I highly doubt this will come as a surprise, Ser Kevan.”

 

“True”. Ser Kevan sighed. “And your words?”

 

“The River’s Shield”.

 

Without being asked, one of the builders inked the words under Alyssa’s drawing, which she gave to Ser Kevan to take back to Lord Tywin. He nodded in satisfaction, and tucked it into his cloak. “That leaves only one thing, my lady. What will you call this stronghold?”

 

She rubbed her chin as she mulled it over, ensuring she had the right idea. “Riverrun. That’s what Axel Tully called his castle, because the Red Fork and the Tumblestone ran past his walls. But this is different. Here, the Red Fork encircles the castle, holding the river in place, as it were. And if House Lannister marches, it’s here we’ll hold the road and hold them off. Riverhold is an apt name.”

 

“House Tully of Riverhold”; Ser Kevan tried the name on his tongue. “The dolphin of Riverhold. It serves you well, my lady.”  He disappeared into his tent for a few moments, before he gave the order for his escort to begin packing their things for a return to Casterly Rock. The head builder, meanwhile, had examined Alyssa’s drawing and after sketching on his parchment for a few moments, proclaimed that it would take only a few hours to carve the stone for the gatehouse, and Ser Kevan nodded in satisfaction. The man was as good as his word, and a large block of granite was quickly inserted into the hole and mortared in place, a dolphin seeming to swim over the heads of those using the gate.

 

As the Lannister escort mounted their horses, a woman came up to Ser Kevan, holding a bundle of cloth. With a smile, he presented it to Alyssa. “To mark the end of our mutual relationship, a token from House Lannister.” Alyssa opened the bundle, to reveal a full version of her sigil, masterfully rendered on cloth. Ser Kevan smiled at her face. “Fly it proudly over your keep, and may it fly there for years to come.”

 

Alyssa bowed in gratitude. “My thanks to House Lannister, and to Lord Tywin. Please tell your lord brother I wish him well, and may Red Rain serve him for years to come.”

 

Ser Kevan smiled a secret smile, as if he knew something she did not. “I will tell him, my lady.” He bowed in farewell, before mounting his horse and riding down the River Road towards the Golden Tooth, accompanied by his escort, banners flying to warn off any bandits. Alyssa headed for Riverhold, and as the sun was sinking low at this point, spent her first night in her new seat.

 

As much as Alyssa would have liked to spend time in Riverhold getting to know her people and decorating her seat with what coin she had, duty took precedence over wants. Now that Riverhold was completed, Alyssa was by law a bannerwoman to House Tully, so she had to present herself at Riverrun and swear her oath. This required Lord Hoster to call together the council of Riverlords to witness this. By week’s end, when she arrived at Riverrun, all of her lord father’s major bannermen or their representatives, were there to observe her oath and accept her as one of their own.

 

For Alyssa’s part, this gave her an opportunity to get to know the men who soon would be her neighbours, especially the Lords Lychester, Vance and Piper, whose lands were closest to hers. As she laid her sword at her father’s feet and knelt to take her oath, she felt the eyes of the most powerful men in the Riverlands upon her. Lord Hoster accepted her oath, and she handed him her banner, Hoster solemnly handing it to his steward, Utherydes Wayn, to hang from the rafters along with the sigils of House Tully’s other sworn vassals. Alyssa went to take her place among the lords, only for Hoster’s raised hand to check her movement, leaving her in her place and feeling uncomfortably exposed, standing in the centre of a circle of the lords of the Trident.

 

“Lady Alyssa Tully of Riverhold” he began, voice echoing through Riverrun’s Great Hall, “you took it upon yourself to strengthen the defences of the Riverlands. You struck a deal with House Lannister, trading the Valyrian steel sword Red Rain to do so. Instead of selling it for coin, which you could have easily done, or gifting it to House Tully, you risked my wrath and the potential loss of millions of gold dragons to protect our home. Your seat of Riverhold will be the stalwart shield that guards our western marches for centuries to come, and your very words reflect this. But beyond this, ever since Brynden began to send me letters about your training, he mentioned your desire to serve House Tully and make me proud.” 

 

Out of the corner of her eye, Alyssa noticed her uncle standing at her father’s side, face beaming with poorly disguised pride. Hoster smiled now, a barely visible tear in his eye. “I can say with certainty you have done both these things, and proven that you will be a good and faithful bannerwoman to House Tully. Therefore, I hereby name you and all your heirs to come, until the end of time, Wardens of the Western Hills.”

 

Gasps and murmurs came at this, as none of the lords present had any idea what Lord Hoster was talking about. Fortunately, he elaborated. “Should House Lannister break their word and march west, it will be your duty to call your forces and meet them in battle, to buy time for House Tully to muster our levies. In this role, you have the authority to call upon the aid of Houses Piper of Pinkmaiden, Vance of Atranta and Vance of Wayfarer’s Rest.” The lords of the three Houses named looked up, Piper appearing indignant at being bannerman to a woman, and one who commanded far less men than he did. “Should I or my heirs send word commanding you as Warden to call your banners, then my lords, you will answer her call as you would mine, or risk House Tully’s wroth for your treason.” Grudgingly, the two Vances and Piper nodded, and Hoster stared directly into Alyssa’s eyes. “Kneel.”

 

Alyssa went to one knee, staring up at her father, as Hoster picked up River’s Edge, resting the point on the floor. “Do you swear to guard the River Road, allowing no armed force to travel through your lands without my order?”

 

“I do.”

 

“Do you and your heirs swear loyalty to House Tully, now and until the end of time, to answer when called upon?”

 

“I do”.

 

“And do you swear to protect the Riverlands and its people at all costs? To the very best of your ability, sacrificing even your men, your honour and your very life if necessary?”

 

Alyssa gulped as she felt the weight of responsibility pressing down upon her, as was the gazes of the assembled lords.

 

“I do, Father. I swear to protect the Riverlands and its people, no matter what lengths I must go to. So I swear, in the light of the Seven.”

 

Lord Tytos Blackwood, follower of the Old Gods, unconsciously frowned at this, but Hoster was already speaking. “Then rise, Alyssa Tully, Lady of Riverhold and Warden of the Western Hills!” He held out a hand, which she grasped, and he pulled her to her feet, before holding out River’s Edge. “Take up your sword, Warden, and wield it in defence of House Tully and our home.” Alyssa sheathed her blade, before the lords began to crowd around her, shaking her hand and congratulating her, some more genuinely than others. Ser Stevron Frey, Lord Walder’s son and heir was simply looking at her in a way that suggested he was already planning which relative she should marry. 

 

Alyssa smiled internally when her uncle shook her hand, as she refused to relinquish it, clapping him on the shoulder and raising her voice to be heard by the men in the room. “I made you a promise, years ago, uncle, that you would never be without a home while it was in my power. Well I have my seat, and now I need to man and defend it. I’ll need guards, and I’ll need an experienced soldier to train them and teach them which end of a sword is which.” She looked around the room with a smile. “A man with the proven ability to turn a girl playing with sticks into a warrior would be preferable. Ser Brynden Tully, will you take up the position of Master at Arms at Riverhold?”

 

The Blackfish was stunned for a moment, before he nodded slowly. “I am your man, my lady.” He knelt, and swore his loyalty while around him, the lords of the Trident cheered, approving of her choice. Hoster’s face was set, but though he refused to show it, he was glad to see his brother make something of himself, even if it was serving his niece. He did smile when Alyssa spoke to Ser Stevron, offering places on her guard to any of Lord Walder’s sons or grandsons who might wish it.

 

Even though Alyssa had dreamt of being one of her father’s vassals every time she dared to truly dream, in the first three years after Riverhold’s construction, Alyssa spent mayhaps a year actually staying in her castle. Not only Master at Arms, Ser Brynden often found himself serving as castellan while Alyssa was in the field with her forces. The Lady of Riverhold had taken her responsibilities to protect her people seriously, and took the presence of bandits on her lands as an affront. The River Road ran north-east along her borders, and rich merchants travelled to and from the Westerlands, offering their wares. Men unwilling to work or desperate to feed their families found the merchants easy targets, along with smallfolk using the road.

 

A large portion of Alyssa’s lands had been under the direct control of House Tully in years previous, and Lord Hoster had been diligent about keeping them free of such scum. However, the eastern half of her holdings was made up of land once controlled by Houses Vance and Lychester, and there things were different. The very reason Lord Vance had sold that land to Lord Hoster was that he was unable to maintain it any longer, and lacked the men to patrol it. As for Lord Lychester, he was an old man who was the last of his line, his House done once he passed. Slowly, his control over his lands was beginning to slacken. The portion of his former territory Alyssa now controlled was on the edge of the Lychester holdings, and neither that fact, nor Lord Lychester’s fading power had gone unnoticed by bandits.

 

That stretch of the River Road took less than half a day to travel by foot, and only hours by horse, but the frequency of outlaw attacks along Lord Lychester’s borders had been growing slowly but surely. Over time, they had extended their operations into Lord Vance’s lands, once they realised the Lord of Wayfarer’s Rest rarely sent patrols that far out. By now, they were firmly entrenched, their lairs hidden in caves and among the smallfolk. However, this was no Kingswood Brotherhood. The smallfolk did not shelter them, and refused to reveal their location not out of loyalty but of fear at what the bandits would do to them with their lords unable or unwilling to act.

 

Alyssa however, had both the men to do what Lord Vance could not and the will to do what Lord Lychester would not. Calling her swords, she rode forth with nearly a hundred cavalry behind her, striking swiftly and ruthlessly at any outlaw hideouts. She struck first at the largest, and most well-known. Slaying all present, her men burnt them to the ground. No fools, the bandits scattered into the woods and the hills, seeking refuge in the villages of the smallfolk, but things had changed.

 

The presence of knights and armsmen flying a noble House’s banner had told the people that they were not forgotten, and the sight of places that once brought fear at the very sight burnt to the ground showed them that their new Lady could indeed protect them. The fear that the bandits relied upon to force the smallfolk into shielding them was gone. One by one, people came forward to tell Alyssa’s men where the bandits were hiding, and brutally, the outlaws were dealt with.

 

The length of Brynden’s time as castellan, however, was not entirely due to Alyssa chasing bandits. Wary of her duty to protect the Riverlands, Alyssa journeyed back and forth across the lands watered by the Trident, visiting each of her fellow lords in turn, attempting to forge relationships and alliances. Many answered her only with nods and vague words, and Lord Walder Frey hinted heavily that he had many sons she could choose her husband from, something that still left Alyssa thinking deeply. Lord Jason Mallister, however, approved of anyone who benefited from the misfortune of Ironborn, and had seen more than Alyssa had thought of her actions during the Rebellion. By the time Alyssa left Lord Jason’s keep, Riverhold and Seagard had struck a pact of mutual defence, and Alyssa bore a token of that alliance on her belt. 

 

This token took the form of a beautiful, yet serviceable dagger, the pommel crafted in the shape of an eagle’s head and the guard its spread wings. The blade itself was castle-forged steel, the finest House Mallister’s smiths could produce. One half of a pair, Lord Jason kept the dagger’s twin, forged with a dolphin hilt, safely at Seagard. As Lord Jason had told her when he handed her the blade, should she ever send it back to Seagard, it would be a sign that she needed aid. He promised to answer promptly, and hoped that she would do the same should the dolphin-handled dagger ever arrive at Riverhold, though both knew that was merely politeness on Lord Jason’s part. Seagard had more than enough strength to defend itself.

 

Unfortunately, her visit to Seagard was the highlight of her audiences with the Riverlords. Ser Halmon Paege was kind enough, but non-committal in terms of an alliance. Considering that he could muster twice her swords, that was understandable. Lord Vypren was dismissive, Lord Mooton fawning and trying to curry favour with her father, and the Lords Blackwood and Bracken both tried to persuade her to argue for them against the other in front of her lord father. House Ryger, heir of which served as Captain of the Guards at Riverrun, was more respectful, but promised nothing. As for her closest neighbours, the Pipers of Pinkmaiden and the Vances of Wayfarer’s Rest grudgingly welcomed her into their halls, and accepted her as Warden. Still, that was better than when she visited House Lychester, Lord Lymond refused to even see her. 

 

Of the Houses in the east, Lord Darry loved her as much as he loved her father, which was to say, not at all. The Darrys had been strong Targaryen supporters, and Hoster had forced to deal harshly with them, as he had with the Goodbrooks. As for Harrenhal, Alyssa’s welcome there was as she expected. Shella Whent had been kin to Minisa Tully, Lord Hoster’s deceased wife, and Lady Whent took Hoster’s breach of the mourning period as an insult to her House; as was her right, if Alyssa was honest with herself. A living reminder of that breach, Alyssa found her greeting cold and formal, and left as soon as she was able, sure that she had no friend in Harrenhal.

 

Under Brynden’s stewardship, Riverhold grew prosperous, while Alyssa’s efforts kept it strong and free of bandits. She made many more trips to Pinkmaiden and Wayfarer’s over the years, and gradually, Lord Piper grudgingly came to respect her for her efforts. Lord Vance of Wayfarer’s Rest was slower, his pride still hurt by the necessary action of relinquishing a portion of his lands, but even he eventually came to respect her as a fellow Lord, or in her case, Lady. As for Atranta, Lord Norbert Vance was an old, blind man, but loyal to House Tully. He swore that as long as the Lord of Riverrun commanded him to follow her, he would obey.


	11. Aegis of the Dolphin

Four years after Riverhold had first been built, the first true test of Alyssa’s leadership came. Fighting outlaws had been something anyone with a sword could do, and Brynden had done most of the ruling in her absence. The presence of a small band of terrified smallfolk at her gates, however, would test her resolve and ability to make hard decisions. The guard informed Alyssa they appeared unarmed, and so she allowed them into her hall. They seemed to run in rather than walk, glad to be surrounded by stone walls.

 

They looked around nervously for a moment, before the biggest, a tall man with a large cut down his face, spoke up. “Milady, we need your help. Bandits have attacked our village, and they’ve killed many and carried off our women. Please protect us.” 

 

Alyssa leaned forward in her chair, a simple yet sturdy construction of thick oak. “I thought I’d chased those filth from my lands.” Her hand grasped the hilt of River’s Edge. “My people will never be left unprotected, and if those who seek to prey on them have forgotten they should fear me, then I must remind them.” Her head turned to her right, where Brynden sat, quietly watching. “Call forth our knights, we ride tomorrow.” Alyssa glanced back at the watching smallfolk. “You’ll be safe soon, I promise. Did you see where they came from?”

 

The man looked nervously at the others, before he swallowed. “I followed them on me old plough horse, that’s where I got this” he gestured to his face; “they saw me and nearly shot me off him. They came from Fieldstone, milady.”

 

To her left, the sound of a chair scraping back drew Alyssa’s attention, and she glanced over to see Maester Lucas standing in a hurry. Her request for a maester from the Citadel had been answered, and though Lucas was young and had few links on his chain, he served adequately for what Alyssa required of him, that being copying letters and tending to the ravens. “With respect, my lady, Fieldstone is not in your holdings.”

 

“What?” Alyssa stared directly at the smallfolk now. “Who is your lord?”

 

Once again, the big man seemed to be chosen as their speaker, and he wrung his hands together before mumbling something Alyssa could not hear. “Speak up, man” she said impatiently, her earlier concern all but gone, replaced by outrage at being deceived.

 

“Lord Lychester, milady.” The man was close to tears now. “Lord Lymond’s knights haven’t been seen in Fieldstone for moons now, the people there told me and when I tried to ask for his help, his maester turned me away, he did. It was on me way back through Fieldstone I got seen and had to ride for it. The people think he’s abandoned them. We come from Donnelwood, and you’ve kept us safe for years until now, so we thought that if Lord Lychester wouldn’t help us, and them, then you might.”

 

“A moment, good people.” Alyssa turned away, leaning close to Maester Lucas, and to Brynden, ever present at her right hand. “Tell me what you can of this, Maester.”

 

Maester Lucas was a young man of just over twenty namedays, but his voice was sure when he spoke. “Not much, my lady. I know Donnelwood is a small village sworn to you, near the border with House Lychester. It was plagued by bandits and thugs operating out of a nearby inn; thanks to Lord Lymond’s inaction, before you began your crusade to remove all bandits in the area. As for Fieldstone, it is a fairly large settlement a day’s ride from here. It lies near the edge of House Lychester’s holdings, two days from Lord Lymond’s keep.”

 

“Two days away, and still he does nothing?” Alyssa’s voice was equal parts disbelief and rage, knuckles whitening on the hilt of her sword. “If he won’t, then I will.”

 

The young man, normally calm and collected, was animated now, gesturing fiercely as he tried to make himself heard. “My lady, Fieldstone is Lord Lymond’s village. If you send a force of armed men into his lands without his consent, that can be seen as a cause for war, and many of our neighbours love us not.”

 

“He’s right.” The words were quiet, but shocked Alyssa to her core. Turning in her seat, she looked incredulously at her uncle, only to see that his jaw was set and his face was hard. This wasn’t her uncle who stood before her now, this was the Blackfish, who had defied even his brother and liege lord. “This would be beyond foolish, it’s fucking stupid Alyssa!” His face was calm, showing nothing of the fear and shock now building within him. “It is not within your power to send an armed force into your neighbours lands.”

 

Brynden had always insisted on addressing her properly, despite Alyssa’s insistence that he need not bother with her title, so for him to speak so bluntly now stunned her, and he took his chance to continue. “Lychester’s a senile old fool, but you’d be just as stupid as him if you do this.”

 

“And what would you propose?” Alyssa’s nails were now drawing blood as she clenched her fist in her rage. “Do nothing and let Lychester’s laziness endanger our people?”

 

“Wait.” The Blackfish was calmer, his words more controlled than hers, but his resolve no less. “Send a raven to Lord Lychester and demand that he deal with the problem.”

 

“The old fool knows, he just doesn’t care” she snapped, breathing now heavy as she vainly attempted to calm herself.

 

Acknowledging her point with a simple tilt of his head, Brynden gamely tried another tack. “Then tell Hoster.” Alyssa’s face softened slightly as she considered his point, and Brynden seized the moment, pressing his edge. “Your father may be old, but he’s no fool. He knows what kind of a man Lychester is, he’ll have Lychester summoned to Riverrun in a blink if he finds out. Knowing him, he’s been waiting for a reason to rake that senile bastard over the coals, you might give him the excuse to deal with him for good.”

 

Her breathing slowed, and as she closed her eyes, clearly thinking of what to do, Brynden sent a rare prayer to the Seven, begging the Crone to give his niece the wisdom to wait and do what was right. Unfortunately, when she opened them, it was not the Crone, but the Warrior, and the Stranger that he saw reflected in those blue orbs.

 

“Father will summon Lychester to Riverrun, but that will take at least a week. Calling his forces will take longer, it may be a moon or more before Riverrun sends aid. This needs to be sorted now”. Her tone was final, she would not be dissuaded on this, but Brynden desperately tried one last time.

 

“What about the other lords Alyssa? Vance and Bracken won’t take this lightly, and Hoster can’t be seen favouring you. If Lychester calls for justice…”  Brynden trailed off, no arguments left, and as his niece responded, he was horrified to see that his words had had no impact.

 

“Lord Mallister has pledged support, and if I explain the situation to him, I believe Lord Vance will side with us.” Alyssa’s face was drawn grimly. “Lord Lymond’s inaction threatens his borders as well as mine, and Lord Bracken’s. Stone Hedge’s lands border Lychester’s on the other side, bandits from that area could spill over into his holdings as well. The same goes for Lords Goodbrook, Blackwood and even my father, House Tully’s personal lands touch Lord Lychester’s. If Lychester’s holdings are becoming a nest of bandit activity, it is in our interests to burn it out before it can spread to all of us.”

 

“But even ignoring all of that” her eyes were alight with a strange fire “even at the risk of war with House Lychester, I would still ride for one reason.” Alyssa looked directly at the small group of bedraggled people in her hall. “These are my people. They are mine to protect. Call the banners.” 

 

“Seven bless you, milady.” The small knot of people in the hall cheered, and Alyssa drew her sword, gazing into the blue steel for a few moments. “I swore I would protect you, and you have my word, these outlaw scum will meet their end.” 

 

Banners flying, trumpets blaring and warhorses snorting, Alyssa led her cavalry out of Riverhold the next morning, as she had promised. Brynden noted to himself as she left that she sat a horse far better than she had as a child, the result of days spent in the saddle riding down bandits. The ride to Fieldstone and camping along the way took longer than the fighting itself; as expected, when faced with armoured knights closing in on the village, the poorly armed bandits fled. It availed them naught, as the light cavalry Alyssa had brought rode them down effortlessly, butchering them with sweeps of longswords and thrusts of lances. Alyssa was overjoyed at the sight, and so too apparently, were the people of Fieldstone, freed from oppression and free to sell the weapons and armor of the fallen. 

 

“Tully! Tully! Riverhold!” Fieldstone made its gratitude known as Alyssa’s men finished their work, and for a moment Alyssa thought that nothing bad had come of this. When the raven arrived at Riverhold a week later, she knew she was wrong.

 

“...Present yourself at Riverrun to answer for your actions, by order of Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Trident”. Alyssa put the scroll down, face impassive, before she glanced at her uncle, and her composure cracked. “I’m in trouble here, aren’t I?”

 

A solemn nod was her answer, and she took a deep, shuddering breath, the implications her actions might have now striking her. “How bad will it be?”

 

“Worse than you might expect, but not as bad as you fear” the answer was cryptic, a slight smile playing upon the Blackfish’s lips at her confusion, before he sighed and decided to do away with the humour. “A straight answer then. Very well. First off, you can stop fearing for your neck. Stupid and arrogant this may have been, it wasn’t murder or treason, so Hoster won’t take your head or Riverhold.” His lips twitched again at the sight of Alyssa visibly relaxing at the knowledge that her life was not at stake.

 

“That said” Brynden continued, “he may order you to apologize to Lychester, take some of your lands, give him some of your taxes or anything else that he thinks appropriate.” He chuckled ruefully, rubbing his neck as he remembered incidents from times past. “The old goat has a sense of humour and an imagination both, that’s how I met you after all.”

 

Both Tullys shared a smile at that, before Brynden clapped his hands sharply. “Well. We’d best prepare to leave then.”

 

“We?” Alyssa’s face was equal parts question and hope. “You’re coming too, Uncle?”

 

Slowly, Brynden Tully shook his head, a gentle smile upon his lips, and her heart sank. “Alyssa, you’re my niece. You might have been bloody stupid, but you’re still family, and I made a promise years ago that I don’t intend to break.”

 

Tears filled her eyes, and she embraced him for a moment, before both left to prepare for their journey to Riverrun.

 

The reception Alyssa received at her father’s seat stood in contrast to her previous visits. Guardsmen in fish-crest helms met her at the gate, and fell into step around her as she approached the hall, her own guards eyeing them off nervously, hands hovering on their swords. Ser Robin Ryger, captain of the guard, met her at the entrance to the hall. A grim man in any case, there was no smile on his face whatsoever. “Your arms, my lady.”

 

Alyssa’s own men set up a cry at this, and she was about to join them before her common sense reasserted itself. She was in Riverrun, not Riverhold, and aside from the puny ten or so men she had as escort, all the armsmen around wore the trout, not the dolphin. Should her father decide she was an enemy of Riverrun, all her men would do was die in her service. If she were to leave with her head still on her neck, it would be accomplished through the use of words, not swords.

 

Wordlessly, she unbelted River’s Edge and handed it to Ser Robin, along with her dagger. Her pain at relinquishing it must have shown on her face, or perhaps her willingness to disarm made Ser Robin see her as less of a threat, because he favoured her with a slight smile. “It will be safe in my keeping, my lady.” Motioning for her guards to remain outside, Alyssa took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and marched into her father’s hall.

 

Lord Hoster Tully sat in his great chair, looking slightly more pale than Alyssa had last seen him, although that may have been a trick of the light. However he may have appeared, his longsword was in his lap, and his arm was as strong as ever as he pounded his fist for quiet, the hall having burst into noise at her arrival. She stood, attempting to appear fearless in front of his chair as Lord Hoster glared at her.

 

“Alyssa Tully, Lady of Riverhold, you stand accused of bringing an armed force onto the lands held by Lord Lymond Lychester without his consent. What have you to say in your defence?”

 

Alyssa thought for a moment;  _ I could demand trial by combat, and hope I can outfight whoever Father chooses as champion. If I lose, I’m guilty and even if I win, I’ll be seen as guilty by all the Riverlands, and Father’s trust in me will be gone. Better to try and defend myself.  _ “I am a noble highborn of the Riverlands, I have the right to face my accuser.”

 

Lord Hoster gestured, and from the shadows, an elderly man emerged, clad in orange and white plate armor that he barely seemed to be able to stand under the weight of. The black talon of Lychester was on his breastplate, and the ornate longsword he handed to Utherydes Wayn as he approached had the guard and pommel fashioned in the same shape. Alyssa’s mouth opened in shock.  _ The old man came himself? I thought his mind was too feeble to leave his castle? _

 

Slowly, but proudly, the man came forward, standing before Lord Hoster and glaring at Alyssa. “I am Lymond Lychester, Lord of Castle Lychester, and in mine own name, I accuse you. Knights bearing your banner rode onto my lands without my consent and did harm to people on my lands.”

 

Hoster’s lips tightened until they whitened, and Alyssa could see his hand tighten on the arm of his chair for a moment, before he turned to her. “Lady Alyssa, have you anything to say in your defence?”

 

Swordfighting and strategy were not as dissimilar as people seemed to think. Often, one would mirror the other. The Blackfish, for instance, was a man legendary for his stubbornness, and his defence mirrored that, he was unyielding, content to block the coming blows until he could retaliate, never driven more than a step backwards. Alyssa, on the other hand, preferred offence to defence and speed to strength, leaping and dodging around incoming blows and letting her agility be her shield. So when her father asked her to speak in her defence, she did what came naturally. The best defence, after all, was attack.

 

“Yes, my lord.”  _ Draw blades.  _ “Lord Lymond is correct, I did send my knights onto Lychester land.”  _ Accept incoming blow.  _ “That said, he has left out several details.”  _ Prepare to strike back.  _ “Those slain by my men were not innocent smallfolk; they were criminals. Murderers, thieves and rapists, the kind I’ve spent the last few years scouring my own lands clean of. They raid my lands and then retreat into Lord Lychester’s holdings to avoid my justice.”  _ First hit breaks offensive.  _ “The people of Fieldstone came to me and begged for my protection. Apparently my lord Lychester” she said with a smirk, “they’ve brought the matter to your attention multiple times, and no longer trust you to keep them safe.”  _ Second blow wounds. _ Surprisingly, she paused now, and in the crowd, Brynden’s lips twitched as he realized what she was doing. 

 

Most people thought that after the second blow wounded your opponent, the best thing to do was to close, and finish them, however a wounded enemy was the most dangerous. If they knew they would receive no mercy, they had nothing to lose, and they would strike out, attempting to injure or kill their attacker. Brynden had taught Alyssa that lesson many time in her youth, painfully. The proper technique was to avoid the blow, and then move in swiftly to deliver the fatal strike.

 

Eyebrows raised, Hoster turned his head. “Lord Lymond. Is this true?” Under Lord Tully’s watchful gaze, Lord Lymond wilted. “Well, that is, yes, my lord, but the problem did not warrant my intervention, and certainly not hers.”

 

Despite herself, Alyssa laughed. “Didn’t warrant it?”  

 

Brynden could almost see his niece gracefully twist her body to avoid an invisible blade.

 

“When your people feel they must come to me for aid, then clearly the situation warranted your attention long ago!” 

 

Before she even opened her mouth again, Brynden saw the blade sink home.

 

“Your inaction has not only caused my people to suffer, but caused harm to all your neighbours. Thanks to you, bandits and criminals operate out of your holdings, and raid our lands with impunity! It almost seems that you approve of their actions!” Her voice had risen to a shout at the last, before her passion died away, and she stood there, panting as Lord Lymond at last found his voice.

 

“Outrageous!” The old man’s face was as red as a Lannister’s banner as he actually shook where he stood, so great was his fury. “Not only do you admit to your crimes against my House, you then have the arrogance, the gall to accuse me of knowingly allowing this scum to threaten your lands. I might have been negligent in my duties, but the King’s own laws give me the right of pit and gallows on my own lands and no other but him.” The glare that the old man fixed on her would have struck her dead had he the power. “But of course I cannot expect unbiased justice from a father judging his daughter, bastard or not” he spat “so I must make my own. If she is not punished for this, my lord, then I will call my banners and House Lychester will go to war with Riverhold.”

 

Her father’s face darkened, and instantly Lord Lymond could see that he had gone too far. “There will be no war between House Tully’s bannermen on my watch, Lord Lymond, and I will punish any who break the King’s Peace, no matter who they are” he roared, eyes flicking between both of them, “let’s get that straight right now.” Old man and young woman both nodded, terrified rabbits in the face of the roaring beast Lord Hoster had become. “Good.” He breathed out for a moment, before continuing more calmly. 

 

“As for my justice, Lord Lymond, you can be assured that my daughter or not, Lady Alyssa will be punished fairly and justly if she is guilty. So.” He steepled his fingers together, looking over them gravely as a teacher would wayward children. “This seems a fairly simple matter to understand. Lady Alyssa, do you deny that you sent men into Lord Lychester’s holdings without his consent?”

 

“I do not.”

 

“Lord Lymond” he continued, ignoring the victorious smile the older man flashed, “do you deny that you were made aware of the bandits, and yet failed to deal with them?”

 

The old man opened his mouth, before Hoster fixed him with a penetrating stare, and he sighed. “I do not, my lord.”

 

Satisfied, Hoster nodded to himself. “Then the issue seems to be whether this problem was extreme enough to warrant Lady Alyssa’s actions. Were these bandits, as she says, a plague on the lands of your neighbours Lord Lymond, forcing her to deal with them, or is this a minor problem blown out of proportions by her haste?”

 

Before either could answer, Hoster held up his hand. “Obviously I could not get an unbiased answer from either of you. And while Riverrun has had complaints of thefts and crime along our border with House Lychester, the reports were varied and only a small part of our lands touch theirs. So I will have the truth, from the only place I will find it.”

 

He turned to Riverrun’s old maester, calmly watching from his place near Lord Hoster’s seat. “Maester Vyman. Send a raven to Lords Blackwood, Bracken and Vance. They are requested at Riverrun within the fortnight, themselves or their heirs as their representative.” The maester bowed, and left for the ravenry. Satisfied, Hoster nodded shortly. “When they arrive, I will ask them about the bandit activities on their lands, and then we will have an answer. Until then, both of you will remain here. You may roam Riverrun as you see fit, but do not leave.” Alyssa and Lord Lymond both swore that they would not, and Ser Robin returned their weapons, before Hoster brought the session to a close. “That is all then. We will discuss this matter further when the other Lords arrive.”

 

Hoster left, and with a last glare at Alyssa, Lychester stormed away. Alyssa turned to leave, but Brynden’s hand on her shoulder stopped her. She glanced up, and the sight of her uncle’s grave face made her heart sink. “I thought that went well?”

 

Ruefully, the Blackfish shook his head, a slight smile playing upon his lips. “Hoster’s my brother, I spent years with him. After a while I learned how to read him, to understand when he says something without speaking, know what he truly means.” His smile faded. “When he asks those lords about the situation, with matter like this he will abide by the majority.” 

 

Alyssa’s confusion must have shown on her face, so he elaborated. “There are four other Houses beside you that border Lychester’s lands. Tully of Riverrun, Blackwood of Raventree Hall, Bracken of Stone Hedge, and Vance of Wayfarer’s Rest. Hoster will speak to each of the other lords, and see whether their opinion agrees with you or Lychester.” 

 

“And then?” Alyssa enquired.

 

“Then” Brynden passed his hand over his face for a moment, “then he will make his decision based on how many support your words. If all three side with you, Lychester will be proven a liar, and if they side with Lychester, Hoster will have no choice but to find you guilty and issue the harshest punishment in his power.” Seeing Alyssa’s eyes widen at this, Brynden smiled grimly. “But, should the opinions be split, then as Lord of the Riverlands, the deciding vote is Hoster’s, and most like he will order the whole matter done with.”

 

Alyssa nodded slowly, nearly sure that she understood the situation, but wanting her uncle to say it just in case. “Which means?”

 

“It means” the Blackfish said bluntly, “that to get out of this mess, you must convince Blackwood, Bracken or Vance to take your side.”


	12. Trial and Punishment

Despite herself, Alyssa smiled. “Just like that?”

 

“Just like that”. Brynden returned her smile. “You remember your lessons on Blackwood and Bracken?”

 

An amused snort was his answer. “That they wouldn’t even agree on the colour of a bloody orange?”

 

“Pretty much” he agreed, an amused smile playing upon his lips. “Get Bracken on your side and Blackwood will take Lychester’s part, or the other way around.”

 

Both shared an exasperated look at the childishness of both Houses, before Alyssa frowned. “What of Vance? He claims I can trust him?”

 

Brynden’s face did not fill her with confidence in that statement. “It was Armistead Vance who gave Axel Tully the land he built this castle on. They were River Kings once, and they have never forgotten that. To serve as bannermen to one of their former vassals is a hurt they nurture quietly.”

 

“That was thousands of years ago” Alyssa objected. “Have they really been holding a grudge this long?”

 

“Not a grudge, more of a” Brynden’s hand stroked his chin as he contemplated the right word to describe the situation. “Pride, really. Being forced to sell Hoster some of his lands to maintain Wayfarer’s hasn’t helped matters of course, and...” 

 

“And my southern holdings come from that land. Is Lord Vance’s pride still hurting about that, even after all this time?”

 

Grimly, the Blackfish nodded. “For such an old House to see its holdings, even a portion, be taken over by a new one, formed by a bastard no less, well, you saw your reception for yourself when you visited Wayfarer’s.”

 

“Cold, but courteous?”

 

“That’s it.” Brynden sighed for a moment. “I’m not saying he’s unreasonably set against you, Vance does have a sense of justice, but expect him to show you no favours. He will not lie to Hoster, but he will not speak positively about you either. The best you can hope for is for him to remain neutral.”

 

“So Blackwood or Bracken, the other one sides with Lychester and Vance stays neutral? Is that the way of it?”

 

“That’s the way of it”. Brynden was silent for a minute, before he clapped his hands. “Right then. Time for me to see Hoster’s found my hidden supply of Dornish Red in the cellar yet.” He rested his hand on her shoulder for a moment. “Good luck, Alyssa.” He left the room, whistling “The Bear and the Maiden Fair”, and Alyssa headed to the training yard, intending on clearing her head by beating a training dummy to pulp.

 

The first of the three Lords, Jonos Bracken, arrived a few days later. Barrel-chested and broad-shouldered, the Lord of Stone Hedge was not a man that Alyssa would willingly cross blades with. Before Alyssa could think of a way to speak with him privately, Lord Jonos had taken matters into his own hands, seeking her out when she was at the practice yard.

 

“Lady Alyssa.” As expected of a man his size, his voice was loud, and booming. Seeing her cringe under the volume, he winced and made an effort to speak more quietly. “Sorry about that.”

 

Shaking her head slightly to clear the ringing in her ears, she gave a weak smile. “Lord Jonos. Welcome to Riverrun. I’m sorry you had to come all this way on my account.”

 

The smile she received in return was kinder than one usually expected from such a large and imposing man. “It’s no bother, my lady. Honestly, I’ll just be glad to see this bandit problem finally dealt with, this has been going on long enough.”

 

Her heart leapt in hope, it certainly seemed that Lord Bracken was sympathetic towards her cause. “So Stone Hedge has been affected too, my lord?” she asked, trying to keep her voice level.

 

“Aye” he spat, looking disgusted. “That old fool’s done nothing about it so long they’ve spread beyond his borders and onto my lands.” A fist clenched around the hilt of the immense broadsword strapped to his back. “Lychester’s been allowed to do nothing for too long, and we’ve all paid the price. It’s time the old fool reaped the consequences of his actions.”

 

Alyssa’s lip curled, unable to hide her distaste for the ineffective Lord of Castle Lychester. “I agree completely, my lord.”

 

Lord Jonos smiled, satisfied. “Good. Then I’ll tell your father about the problem when he asks me, and with you backing me up, we might finally get him to do something about that senile old fool.” 

 

He offered her a hand, which she grasped and shook, wincing from the force of his grip. Turning to leave the grounds, he took a few paces and then stopped, head tilting as a thought occured to him.  “My lady”, Alyssa glanced at him curiously as his face turned grave, “it would be best that none knew of this. I know you’ll tell old Brynden, but if anyone else hears about it, then Blackwood” he spat the name in his spite “might know, and if he knows then he’ll join Lychester just for the sake of opposing me.”

 

“Of course not, my lord. I will see you again when Father calls for us. Until then, good fortune to you.”

 

“And to you, my lady.” Lord Bracken left, and Alyssa threw herself into her practice with renewed spirit, smiling at the thought that she had at least one supporter.

 

Lord Tytos Blackwood of Raventree Hall reached Riverrun the next day, and Alyssa bumped into him that evening as she was passing through the godswood. The Lord of Raventree was kneeling calmly in the dirt, before the heart tree. Though she kept to the Faith, Alyssa could almost feel some power pressing down on her as she stood before the weirwood’s carved gaze. Before she could open her mouth, still awed at the power of the place, without raising his head Lord Tytos addressed her.

 

“Lady Alyssa.”

 

Shocked, she took a step back and Lord Tytos got to his feet, turning to face her with a thin smile. His nose, she saw, was hooked, as if it had been broken before, and his hair was as her uncle’s, salt and pepper. Where Bracken had been broad and muscled, Blackwood was tall and thin. “How did you?”

 

“Know it was you?” His smile grew a hair wider. “I heard your sword bouncing at your waist, but your footfalls were too light to be a man’s. Only one woman known to bear weapons should be at Riverrun at this moment, so it could be none other than Alyssa Tully. And I suspect, you have come about the Lychester matter, to find out who I will side with.”

 

Dumbfounded at Blackwood’s skills of deduction, she could do nothing but nod, mouth slightly open in surprise. While he was a serious man, who she would gamble laughed mayhaps once a year, his smile drew just a little wider. “Come, come, my lady, it shouldn’t be that surprising. House Blackwood has always prided ourselves on providing the best scouts and bowmen in the Riverlands, and a good scout must have a raven’s cunning.” His smile then faded. “As to what I will say, I fear my lady, I must disappoint you there. I will speak the truth to Lord Hoster when he asks, and no more than that. I will not lie to him for you, Lychester or any man, woman or child living.” 

 

Lord Blackwood knelt once more, turning his back on Alyssa in dismissal as he returned to his prayers, and out of respect, she left to avoid disturbing his worship any further. Lord Blackwood’s words left her unsure, but she had barely a day to think on it before Ser Robin came to the training fields to summon her to the Great Hall. Ser Karyl Vance, heir to Wayfarer’s Rest, had arrived in his aged father’s stead, and her lord father had called for a gathering. It was time.

 

Ser Robin escorted her to the doors of the Great Hall, before signalling for her to wait. He left, but unlike the previous time, he did not require her to hand over her weapons before departing. Eventually Utherydes cracked his metal staff on the floor and called her name. Holding her head up confidently, or at least attempting to appear confident, she stepped forward, standing in front of her father’s chair.

 

Looking around out of the corner of her eye, she could see at a glance that this was far more serious than before. The two Lords she’d spoken to earlier in the week were there glaring at each other, clad in their finest armor. Bracken in plate and mail, horsehair crested helm held by a squire by his side, and Blackwood in scarlet plate with the dead tree of his House emblazoned on his breastplate. Between them stood a man Alyssa did not know, but the quartered black dragons on white and yellow eyes on black on his cloak made him out to be Ser Karyl Vance, clearly placed there to keep the rival Lords from each other’s throats.

 

On the other side of them was Lychester, the old man standing proudly in his orange and white plate. A glance to the side showed her uncle in the front of the crowd, and he smiled encouragingly at her. As she took her place beside Lord Bracken, Utherydes crashed his staff on the floor again. “Silence for the Lord of Riverrun!”

 

He bowed, gesturing to Lord Hoster, and Alyssa was surprised to see her father wincing with the effort as he pulled himself to his feet. “My lords” he called, the power of the usual voice he used to command allegiance absent in this case, “my ladies” with a glance at Alyssa, “we are gathered here today to hear the matter of Lord Lymond Lychester of Castle Lychester against Lady Alyssa Tully of Riverhold.”

 

Utherydes flicked a glance at her, and she took that as her cue to step forward, even as Lord Lychester did the same. Hoster looked them both over for a moment. “The basis of this case is simple; Lady Alyssa has confessed to sending an armed force, without permission, into the bounds of Lord Lychester’s holdings.”

 

The crowd burst into murmurs at this, and the ones Alyssa could hear were not positive. It seemed many were curious why a trial was needed at all then, but before she could hear any more Utherydes pounded his staff for quiet again, and her father continued. “She claims her reason for doing this was to deal with the problem caused by bandits preying on her lands and harassing her people, bandits who Lord Lymond admits, he failed to deal with.”

 

More whispering, but the tone was more positive this time, before the staff rang out again. “Lord Blackwood. Lord Bracken. Ser Vance. As you are the only affected parties in all this truly neutral, you have been called to testify as to the severity of this problem. Has Lord Lymond’s failure to act brought havoc upon his neighbours, or has Lady Alyssa rushed to act without thinking?”

 

The crowd began whispering among each other now, quiet enough that Utherydes didn’t feel the need to silence them, but the few snippets Alyssa could glean told her that they were divided on this matter. Hoster held up his hand, and the whispering died off. “I shall hear from each in turn, and then decide.” He looked the three over for a moment, before his gaze fell upon Lord Tytos, fingers winding in the folds of his raven-feather cloak. “Lord Tytos Blackwood of Raventree Hall. You shall speak first.”

 

The tall man stepped forward, inclining his head to Lord Hoster. “As you will, my lord. Unfortunately I have very little light to shed on this matter.” He glanced apologetically at Alyssa. “My lands have had problems with criminals and thieves, however they have been scattered, and infrequent.” Her disappointment must have shown on her face, because Lord Tytos held up his hand as the crowd began to murmur. “That said, my lord, I must respectfully remind all present that Blackwood Vale is far from Lychester’s lands, and separated by the Red Fork.” He spread his hands in a shrug. “Perhaps they find crossing the river too much effort, I do not know.”

 

Hoster nodded thoughtfully. “Thank you, Lord Tytos. Ser Karyl, what does House Vance have to say of this?” The Vance knight stepped forward, and Alyssa noted the winestain birthmark on his cheek as he turned his head to address her father. 

 

“My lord” he began gravely, “I have far more ill news than Lord Tytos.” The hall fell silent as Ser Karyl continued, all present eager to hear what he had to say. “These pests have indeed been plaguing our lands, for many years now. The woods that shelter Wayfarer’s Rest are perfect ground for these criminals, and they strike passing travellers, then melt away before they can be found.” He paused for a moment, fist clenched. “It is as if the Kingswood Brotherhood had returned.” Gasps came at the mention of the famous outlaw band, which had required a royal intervention force to finally defeat. 

 

“My lord father has tried many times to deal with this infestation” Ser Karyl reported, “but when we finally muster our knights and drive them from our woods, they flee back to Lord Lychester’s hills where we dare not go. My lord father forbade violating Lord Lymond’s rights, and sent him many ravens, but he has not even acknowledged our complaints. Worse, every time we drive them off they grow bolder, returning in greater numbers and drawing deeper into the woods.” He looked down, clearly ashamed at what he had to say next. “At this point, we lack the strength and the numbers to remove them from our lands.”

 

Hoster’s face was inscrutable, before he turned his head to the last man, and all present knew what he would say before he said it. “Finally, Lord Jonos Bracken.” The Lord of Stone Hedge moved forward, and stood before Hoster. “What light can you shed on this, Lord Jonos?”

 

His broad shoulders slumped, and the large man sighed. “Nothing good, my lord. My seat is the closest to Lychester’s holdings, and my family and I have been forced to bring guards whenever we leave Stone Hedge. We put our lives at risk every time we leave the castle because these scum might attack us. As for the rest of my holdings, travellers and merchants are attacked so frequently that they would rather cross the Tumblestone and travel days north around Riverrun than use that part of the River Road any longer.”

 

People gasped, and Bracken nodded sadly. “My towns and mills are beginning to collapse from lack of trade, Lychester’s inaction has allowed a weed to grow that is choking the life from my lands.” 

 

Alyssa saw Blackwood frown at this, which surprised her, she thought he would have been glad to see a Bracken suffer. 

 

Glancing back at Lord Jonos, she saw him clench his fist as sadness turned to anger. “For years this has been going on, and every raven sent to Castle Lychester has been met with pure fucking silence!” He levelled a poisonous glare at the old man, if looks could kill, Lychester would have been dead in an instant. “Lady Alyssa was wrong, I don’t deny that, but I can’t blame her for it. That old fool’s been allowed to let his lands go to the dogs for too long, and we’ve been the ones affected by it.” Defiantly, he looked around the room. “I wish I’d had the courage to do what she did years ago, then things might not have gotten this bad. But they are, because he did nothing.”  He pointed at Lychester, who merely raised his chin as if warding off a blow. “Ever since the Trident, his lands have been just as much of a mess as his mind, and enough is enough. My lord, if Lord Lymond is no longer capable of handling his responsibilities as a Lord of the Riverlands, then perhaps it’s time his burden was eased.” 

 

Lychester tilted his head in curiosity, and Bracken pressed home his point brutally. “If Lord Lymond is unwilling or incapable of ruling his lands, then give those lands to other Lords that will.”

 

The room exploded in noise, and Lychester turned red with anger. Before he could say anything, metal rang against stone and Utherydes lowered his staff as her father rose from his chair. “Having heard all the witnesses, have either of you anything to say before I pass judgment? Lord Lymond?”

 

The sound of his name caused the old man’s head to jerk towards Hoster, hands still shaking in rage, and one of them rested on the hilt of the longsword he wore. Without even looking, Alyssa could see Ser Robin sweeping his cloak away to clear his sword hilt, while her father’s guards gripped their spears more tightly. Casually reaching inside her own cloak, Alyssa took hold of the hilt of her dagger. If Lord Lymond even attempted to draw that sword on her father, she would bury the shorter blade up to the hilt in his eye before his sword even cleared the scabbard, and damn the consequences.

 

Lychester’s knuckles went white as he gripped his weapon, before he glanced at his own hand, as if in shock, and then released his hold. The sword swung back to rest against his side, Riverrun’s guards lowered their weapons, and looking at his right hand as if it had betrayed him, Lord Lymond let out a defeated sigh. “No, my lord.” He chuckled bitterly, a laugh with no mirth behind it. “Well played, girl.” He turned to Hoster. “I cannot deny any of it. In my madness, I allowed my lands to fall into chaos, and many other have paid the price.” 

 

Suddenly, he slumped, seeming to age years in the space of a few moments. The crowd gasped, and many moved to aid him before he held up a hand, refusing their aid.  “I will never be well again, my maester tells me. Ever since the Trident, my mind has not been my own, and it was only my fury at my rights being violated that shook me free. But it has taken a great effort to take control of it this past week, even now, it takes great effort to retain my sanity, and should I slip…”.

 

Many in the crowd looked down in sympathy, even as Lord Lymond returned to his place, and Lord Hoster glanced at her. “Lady Alyssa.” 

 

She stepped forward, and took a deep breath, trying to bury the pity that had risen up inside her upon hearing Lord Lychester’s tale. “Lord Lymond is a good man, and it does pain me to see him reduced to this. But whether his sickness is his fault or not, the fact is that he is clearly unable to serve as Lord of Lychester any longer. It is tragic that it has come to this, but the people of his holdings deserve better. We deserve better. Something must be done. Lord Bracken is right. Not just as punishment for his actions, but to ease the burden on his mind, let Lychester’s lands be given to those who can oversee them, my lord.”

 

To Alyssa’s surprise, out of the corner of her eye she saw her uncle shaking his head, clearly unhappy with something. Her father seemed to be thinking about something, before he sighed, also clearly unhappy with the decision he had to make. 

 

“Very well. I have no choice.” Lord Hoster sighed again, before reaching for his longsword. He slid the blade from its scabbard, before pointing the tip at Lord Lymond. “Lord Lymond Lychester” he began, every inch showing unhappiness, “you have failed on many occasions to keep the King’s Peace in the holdings sworn to you, as is your solemn duty. And by your own words, you are fit to manage those holdings no longer. As Lord Paramount of the Trident, I must now act to preserve the King’s Peace in the Riverlands as a whole.”

 

The room was silent, a pin could have been heard dropping as all present listened to the Lord of Riverrun’s decision. “Lord Lychester, you are hereby stripped of all rights and privileges to those portions of your holdings south of, but not including the land crossed by the River Road” Shocked gasps went up at that, this was the majority of House Lychester’s land. The remainder, bounded by the Red Fork and the road, was the area around Lychester’s seat itself, slightly more than a quarter of his entire holdings. The loss of this much territory robbed Lord Lymond of the right to call himself a High Lord in any but name. He now held the title of Lord, but had the power and men of only a landed knight.

 

Saddened, but not surprised, the old man looked down, and as a map was brought in and unrolled, Hoster continued, the look on his face showing he wanted to do anything but. “As reparations for the damages Lord Lychester’s inaction caused, House Tully of Riverhold is hereby awarded all rights and privileges to the portion of the former Lychester holdings, stretching from their borders to the other side of the hill.”

 

Alyssa was unable to hold back a smile at that. Having full control of the hill would certainly make defending it much easier, and increasing her holdings by a tenth wasn’t something to complain about, either. Her father’s next words drew her attention back to the matter at hand however, as he continued to speak. “House Bracken of Stone Hedge is hereby awarded all rights and privileges to the remaining portion of the former Lychester holdings”. 

 

The room was now buzzing, men and women alike unable to keep silent any longer at this revelation, and Alyssa saw Lord Blackwood flinch, as if struck. Lord Bracken on the other hand, was unable to contain his glee. Face drawn and suddenly weary, Lord Hoster signalled to Utherydes, who banged his staff again. Once the room had gone quiet, he pressed on, eager to have done with this whole business. “Lady Alyssa Tully of Riverhold” Alyssa snapped to attention, glancing at her father, “I find that you had just cause for sending an armed force onto Lord Lymond’s lands. There will be no punishment.”

 

Gratefully, Alyssa smiled at her father, only for Hoster to level her with a long look of what she was surprised to note as disappointment. He looked at Utherydes, and the steward slammed his staff thrice upon the floor ritually. “In the name of the Lord of Riverrun, I declare this court dismissed.”

 

Now free to leave, the people began to file out of the hall, murmuring amongst themselves, many throwing glances Alyssa’s way. Her lips curved into a smile at her success, only for a hand to grab her arm. Spinning, she had a dagger in hand before she registered who it was.

 

“Uncle” she said, breathing a sigh of relief, “don’t do that. I nearly stabbed you.”

 

Face utterly devoid of humour, Brynden didn’t smile back. His grip on her arm was iron, preventing her from leaving. “Do you know what you’ve just done?”

 

“What I’ve done?” Alyssa had no idea why her uncle was acting this way. “I cleared my name and dealt with the problem.”

 

Brynden did not look appeased. “And caused many more. Did you even listen to your lessons? Did your teachers waste their time trying to educate you in politics?”

 

“Waste their...what are you talking about?” Alyssa’s own temper was now flaring, frustrated as she was about her uncle’s seemingly inexplicable anger at her. “All I know is that Father seems upset by something, and you look ready to kill, but I don’t know why.”

 

Brynden stood, and now began pacing the now empty Hall. “Hoster is upset, because thanks to you, decades of work have just been tossed aside.” He stopped and stared directly at her. “Do you imagine it’s easy to have Blackwood and Bracken as vassals? They hate each other, and are always ready to claim the other is being favoured. The Lord of Riverrun must walk a fine line, never favouring one over the other, always being strictly impartial, something Hoster’s proven skilled at over the years.”

 

A cold stone of fear had now sunken into Alyssa’s belly, as she realised now what her uncle was implying. “And I…” she trailed off, unable to even voice the ramifications of what she had done.

 

“You” Brynden said brutally, sparing her feelings not at all, “have just given Bracken a massive advantage in their damn feud. Thanks to you, his holdings have increased by a sixth. Now Hoster’s going to have to spend weeks making sure he doesn’t take the opportunity to attack Blackwood because of this.”

 

Her hand went to her mouth as Alyssa sank to her knees in shock, now realising the true consequences of her actions. Because of her, two of Riverrun’s most powerful bannermen may soon be at war.

 

“It won’t come to that.”

 

The voice made Alyssa jump, and she turned to see Lord Tytos Blackwood standing there, head held high. His face was impossible to read, but his voice held a tone of frustration. “Bracken fears your father’s wrath too much to attack me, but he’ll gloat about this for years to come.”

 

Alyssa’s gaze was downcast, she was too ashamed to even look the man in the face. “Lord Tytos, I...I’m sorry, my lord. I swear to you, I didn’t know what Lord Bracken had in mind and…” her words were coming out in a jumble now, and Lord Blackwood’s hand found her head, tilting it upwards. 

 

“Look at me.” 

 

Blinking back tears, she complied and found the Lord of Raventree staring steadily into her eyes for a moment, before he released her. “Bracken used you, girl. Yes, I say girl” as she instinctively opened her mouth to object to that form of address, “because today has made it clear that despite your skill in battle, you are still little but a child when it comes to political matters. Children make mistakes. But you aren’t a child any more, Lady Alyssa. You were lucky. Your father will spend weeks mediating between Bracken and I, but this mistake is able to be fixed. Your next one might not.”

 

With those words of warning, Lord Blackwood left to return to his seat, and Alyssa was left standing in the hall alone, thinking on his words and determined to do better. When she returned to Riverhold, she took his words to heart, and resolved not only to never again to act on a situation without all the information, but to never again act without thinking of the consequences. She was now responsible not only for herself, but for the people living on her lands, and the actions she took could put them in jeopardy. She vowed never again to put her pride before their safety, and threw herself into becoming the best Lady and Warden she could be.

The first thing she did was thank Brynden for his duties as Steward. He had served faithfully and well, keeping her lands peaceful while she was hunting bandits, but in allowing him to do so, she had abandoned her own duties, and now as a result lacked experience in rule. It took moons, but eventually she felt she had things under control, and could call herself a Lady in truth as well as in name. 

 

She even felt confident enough to use the lion’s share of her new income to purchase another strip of land from House Vance. Being situated in the heart of the woods meant that Wayfarer’s Rest required more maintenance than the usual castle. Tree roots had been growing under the western wall for decades, unnoticed until now when their growth began to collapsed the watchtower.

 

Coin was required to make the repairs, and men were needed to do the work. Lord Vance lacked both. He needed money, and to divert men from other parts of his holdings for the rebuilding would leave them vulnerable while the Rest was being rebuilt. Sensing opportunity, Alyssa offered Vance a solution to both problems at once. Sell her the outer edge of his north-western holdings, and he would not only gain the gold needed for repairs, but reduce the area he had to protect, allowing him to make the repairs without leaving his lands at risk. The deal was struck, a generous price was paid and Alyssa’s holdings increased by a quarter.

Conscious of her duties as Warden, Alyssa ensured that Riverhold would be ready to answer the call if it came. Every person five feet tall or more in every village under her command was required to spend two hours every seventh day practicing with the bow, and another one drilling with the spear. She also kept caches of weapons in each village, so that the villagers could defend themselves against bandit attacks until her men could arrive. Her household knights now numbered nearly a hundred, and she increased the size of Riverhold’s garrison to two hundred, which she made sure to drill frequently. This provided her with a solid core of trained men, who in times of war could help train others, vastly speeding up the time required to muster her forces. 

 

With the power of Riverhold now significant, much of the western Riverlands would be destablilised and leaderless were Alyssa to die without issue, and so Lord Hoster summoned Alyssa to Riverhold to name her heir, and to discuss her marriage. He was shocked however, at her response.

 

“Riverhold is a Tully place, Father, and I don’t want some man thinking he can stick his cock in me and just take it.”

 

Lord Hoster’s jaw was slack.  _ Please, gods, not another Brynden.  _ “Are you telling me you never plan to marry? What of Riverhold, then should you die?”

 

Alyssa stared into her father’s eyes, blue meeting blue and neither backing down. “Mother was very clear about your generosity and the terms of her agreement with me as a child. She made it abundantly clear that I was not to even think of marriage without your consent, and ensured that I knew it too, all too well.”

 

Her voice was slightly bitter, but she continued, knowing she was on safer ground than her uncle had been with Bethany Redwyne. Ser Brynden had been nothing more than a second brother, a Tully of Riverrun ordered by his liege lord and the Head of his House. As it was, it was only Hoster’s forbearance that stopped him being punished for his disobedience. However, Alyssa was a noble in her own right now, and the head of a cadet branch of House Tully. Lord Hoster had no right to order her to marry, and even the Lord Paramount of the Trident could not compel a vassal to wed. 

 

“I earned what I have with my own two hands, but if you hadn’t given me the opportunity, and Uncle Brynden the training, I would have none of it. I want future Tully women to have the same chance I had. Should Edmure have a daughter who takes after me, then rather than forcing her to be a  _ proper  _ lady, send her to me, and I will make her my heir should she wish it. At least that way Riverhold will stay in Tully hands.” 

 

Her eyes seemed to flame, and even her father drew back at the intensity of her expression. “Riverhold is mine, Father. I won’t have some man thinking he can take it from me or House Tully.”

 

Lord Hoster tried valiantly to convince her to change her mind, but her choice was settled, and upon returning to Riverhold, she ruled her lands peacefully for the best part of a year, before the raven arrived and that peace was suddenly, and abruptly, shattered.


	13. Interlude 2 - New Map

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A friend was kind enough to edit another map for me, so here is the new distribution of lands and troop strength among the Riverlords as of the current chapter. Rest assured I don't plan to break every five chapters to add another map, I may add one of the Westerlands at a later date, and perhaps my interpretation of the forces of the North, but that's all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With Alyssa learning a hard lesson comes the conclusion of Part I, and the last timeskip. Next chapter jumps to 298 AC, and the beginning of the war.


	14. Dark Wings, Dark Words

The day that would change the landscape of Westeros forever began as any other day does in the Riverlands. The sun was shining off the surface of the Red Fork as fish leapt out of the water after low-flying insects and Alyssa broke her fast with braised trout in Riverhold’s main hall.  It was as she was finishing a piece of bread that Brynden entered, in mud spattered plate and ringmail with his sword at his side. He was panting slightly, having run, she assumed, straight to the hall. Alyssa swallowed the bread in her mouth and turned to him as he knelt, still panting. “My…lady.”

She poured a glass of water and passed it to him. “Calm down, uncle. What’s wrong?”.

Brynden gulped down half a glass, then gave it back and took a few breaths. “My lady niece. Ill news. Word came from a merchant travelling from Lannisport. The Lannisters have called their banners. A great host is forming of all the Houses of the West.”

Alyssa’s glass fell from limp fingers and smashed against the ground. She brought her hand to her mouth in an involuntary gasp and looked to Brynden, hoping with all her might that her stern uncle had merely chosen a horrible time to jape with her. 

Brynden shook his head solemnly in answer to her unasked question. “I rode out to the Golden Tooth myself in disguise and saw House Lefford’s men headed for the Rock.  Unfortunately this is no jape, my lady”.

“What in the seven hells is Lord Tywin thinking?” Alyssa’s mind whirled frantically. “Forming a few hundred knights to clean bandits out of the West is one thing, but this? Calling his banners without the king’s order is an act of defiance, an all-out declaration of war against the crown! His Grace King Robert will…” Suddenly she almost snarled in frustration.  “King Robert will do nothing, gods damn it, because he owes Lord Tywin half a kingdom. He doesn’t dare anger Casterly Rock because the Old Lion owns him, bought and paid for. Any messages we send to King’s Landing will get no results.”

Brynden stroked his chin, deep in thought. “What do you intend to do then, my lady? Riverrun must be warned.”

Alyssa nodded. “Aye, Riverrun is a strong castle, but it won’t hold out forever against the numbers the Lannisters can muster. I’ll send Edmure a bird. Knowing him and Father, they’ll try to resolve this peacefully by sending ravens to the King and Lord Tywin.”

Brynden snorted at that. “If Tywin Lannister is calling the banners, you can be sure the Old Lion already has a plan in mind and is committed to his goals. He won’t back down.”

“I know, Uncle”, Alyssa growled, “but even as Warden of the Western Hills, I can’t call the lords without an order, we have to wait for word from Riverrun.”

Brynden acknowledged her point with a nod. “Then what will you do, my lady?”

Alyssa frowned. “About all I can do. Send a letter to Father explaining our discovery and hope that he gives me permission to call the banners. In the meantime, Uncle, while I can’t muster the troops of the other lords yet, I want you to drill our own men twice as hard. Do absolutely everything you can and have to ensure that every man wearing the Riverhold dolphin is as battle-ready as they can be, we can use them as a training core when we inevitably muster.”

Brynden bowed. “As you wish, my lady”. He spun on his heel and marched out , while Alyssa headed for her chambers to pen a letter to her father and brother. Sitting at her desk, she selected a quill, dipped it in the ink and began.

_ To Hoster Tully, Lord Paramount of the Trident and Lord of Riverrun. _

_ My lord father. I have received some startling news. A travelling merchant heading to King’s Landing mentioned in passing that the Lannisters have called their banners.  Immediately upon receiving this, Uncle Brynden rode out to the Golden Tooth and confirmed it. Lord Tywin is mustering a host for war. _

_ Pending your decision I have not called my own banners yet, although I have ordered Ser Brynden to ensure that my personal troops are as battle-hardened and ready as they can be. Riverhold remains ready to defend the western border from a Westerlands incursion, as is our sworn duty, awaiting your command. _

_ Whatever your decision is, my lord, Riverhold stands ready to support you, in peace or in war.  _

_ Awaiting further word, yours faithfully _

_ Alyssa Tully, Lady of Riverhold and Warden of the Western Hills. _

 

Rolling up the parchment, she dropped a blot of wax onto it, pressed her seal into the wax and got up. Entering the ravenry, she handed the scroll to the maester. 

“Send this with your fastest bird for Riverrun”.

He nodded, took a raven from its cage, attached the note and gently tossed the bird out the window, where it squawked, and then took wing.  Alyssa watched it fly off east, following the Red Fork to Riverrun, nervous of what return answer it would bring.

Her nervous wait did not last long. The next day, when she entered the Great Hall to break her fast, a scroll was waiting beside her plate, her father’s silver trout seal pressed into the wax. Ignoring her food, she tore it open and began to read:

_ My lady daughter. _

_ Your news brings shock and fear to Riverrun. Were it anyone else giving me this news, I would suspect them of a cruel jest, but if Brynden confirmed it with his own eyes, well we may have our differences, but the old goat would never lie about something like this. Maester Vyman is sending a raven to Casterly Rock for me, demanding that Lord Tywin proclaim his intentions. Another bird flies for King’s Landing, in the hope that His Grace can mend whatever wound has apparently been opened between Riverrun and Casterly Rock. I thank you for not immediately calling your banners, as this gives us a much higher chance of ending this situation peacefully. _

_ Riverrun thanks you for your faithful service, it shall not be forgotten. _

_ Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Trident. _

Absorbed in the scroll’s contents, she failed to notice Brynden approaching, until a growl came from behind her, making Alyssa reach for her sword and spin only to see her uncle standing there, reading over her shoulder.

“So I was right. My brother’s answer is to do nothing and wait for Robert and Tywin to sort it out. Which as you said, won’t happen because Robert owes Tywin millions.”

Alyssa nodded grimly. “Keep up with that increased training, Uncle, we may need those men sooner than we thought. And have me notified immediately if we receive another raven from Riverrun.”

“Of course, my lady” Brynden said. “What I would dearly love to know is, what got a twist in Tywin’s tail in the first place?”

Alyssa wasn’t sure that she did, pondering it as she started on her meal.

Unfortunately, it was only a few days before she found out. “ _ What _ ?” Alyssa thrust the scroll at Brynden.  “Read this Uncle. Please, by all the Seven, tell me my eyes are playing tricks on me.”

Wordlessly, Brynden Blackfish took the parchment, and read silently, his eyes scanning the page for any sign of jest, jape or forgery. He examined the seal at the bottom and then let out a loud groan. “Gods, Cat, what have you  _ done _ ?”

Alyssa pounded her fist on the table. ‘’So it’s true then. My foolish sister has kidnapped the son and heir of the most powerful man in Westeros. And now she hides in the mountains with my other sister from the claws of the angry Lion, leaving us to his wrath.  Gods, Father’s hopes of peace were fine before, but now? There’s no way Lord Tywin will let this go unanswered, will he?”

Brynden shook his shaggy head firmly. “No, such a threat to the power and pride of the Lion must be swiftly and brutally dealt with. Lannisters pay their debts, remember?  And my foolish nieces have just taken out a debt so large that Tywin may well decide to make House Tully go the way of Reyne and Tarbeck. The dice have been well and truly rolled now, either we win this coming war, or soon minstrels will be singing “The Tullys of Riverrun”.

Alyssa gritted her teeth. “Damn it all, we can’t even call our men together without permission.  Tywin will be marching up the River Road before we even have our host mustered.” She blew out a breath. “All right then. Here’s what we are going to do.  We are going to keep drilling our men until they’re the best we can be until the end of the month, and we are going to gather as many more as we can in that time. Send the call out, anyone who can hold a spear, man, woman or child, will receive food and pay in exchange for serving under the dolphin. If we’ve heard nothing by month’s end, I’ll send another bird for Riverrun.”

Brynden nodded thoughtfully. “I don’t like it, in fact I downright bloody hate it, but it’s the best we can do at the moment. I’ll see it done, my lady.”

He walked out, and Alyssa headed for her solar, opening a small chest and pulling out an armful of rolled scrolls. Heading for her map table, she unrolled one and began studying the strategies she had thought up so long ago to prepare in case of war with Casterly Rock, quill in hand as she discarded plans or made adjustments.

The month passed in a blur as Riverhold quietly readied itself for war until one day before the deadline she had given herself, there came a knock on the door to her solar. “Enter”

Brynden entered, still in mud-stained travelling cloak and mail, having ridden out with a small party to check on the progress of the Lannister host. At her nod, he sank into a chair, and put his head in his hands.

Alyssa frowned. “Whatever bad news you have for me, Uncle, speak freely and give it to me as plainly as you can.”

Brynden sighed. “It’s a grim business, Alyssa, grim indeed.  Two hosts left Casterly Rock yesterday. The Kingslayer commands twenty thousand of his father’s best men, while Lord Tywin himself rides with another twenty in his train.”

With haste, Alyssa turned to the map. “How long before they reach us, Uncle?”

Brynden’s shaggy hair moved as he shrugged his shoulders. “Forty days. A moon, if they’re all mounted.”

Alyssa nodded briefly, mind already flicking through plans. “He’s not likely to do that, he can’t take this castle with only cavalry. So forty days then. That settles it, there’s no more time to waste. Riverrun must hear of this.”

She started to rise, only for Brynden to clear his throat. “I wasn’t finished. On my way from the stables, the maester gave me this to give to you.” He extended his hand and passed her a note sealed with not her father’s, but her brother’s silver trout seal. She scratched at the seal for a second, before giving up, and holding out her hand to Brynden, who passed her his belt knife without a word. Slitting the scroll open, she unrolled it and began to read out loud for Brynden’s benefit.

“My lady sister. 

Father has taken a turn for the worse, and Maester Vyman cares for him as I write this. He will recover in a few days, but until then the Riverlands are my responsibility. As you know, Lord Tywin Lannister is massing a host at Casterly Rock.  Having sent ravens demanding his intent, we received in reply not news, but a band of Lannister soldiers, dressed as brigands raiding our lands. Witnesses described their leader as a man so great in stature he could only be The Mountain Who Rides, Tywin Lannister’s mad dog Gregor Clegane.

Father sent ravens to King’s Landing the day before he sickened, asking permission to destroy the raiders, but I know it will do no good. Clegane may be a mad dog, but he is Tywin’s attack dog. He doesn’t bark without orders. If Clegane is attacking the Riverlands, then the Old Lion ordered him to in an attempt to draw us out. Lord Tywin wants a fight. And for the people of Wendish Town and Sherrer, I intend to give him one.

Even as I write, ravens fly to Seagard, The Twins, Raventree Hall, Stone Hedge, Darry, Harrenhal and all our other bannermen, commanding them to bring their men to Riverrun. However, Tywin moves too fast and we need time to muster our forces. Therefore, as acting Lord Paramount of the Trident in Father’s stead, I hereby command you, Alyssa Tully, as Warden of the Western Hills, to call your banners and muster a host at Riverhold to engage the Lannisters and buy time for me to bring our army together. I regret what I must ask you to do, sister, but if I do not, then all the Riverlands will burn.”

_ Ser Edmure Tully. _


	15. A Call to Arms

Alyssa rolled up the scroll again and turned to Brynden. “Uncle Brynden, choose twenty of our best riders and send them out across our lands, they are to put out the word. Riverhold is calling its banners. Then come back here, I have need of your advice.”

Brynden nodded and strode out. Alyssa meanwhile, studied the map of the Riverlands carefully, eyes passing over each castle symbol as she mentally went over the strength each could give in times of war. Her eyes were lingering over Seagard and the Twins as Brynden re-entered, and she turned to face him.

“Tywin Lannister has twenty thousand men, as does the Kingslayer, correct?” Brynden nodded, unsure why she was asking this. She tapped her finger on the map thoughtfully. “And we can raise around a thousand of our own Riverhold men?”

Staring at the map for a moment, Brynden Tully shook his head. “Normally, yes, but as per your orders my lady, I’ve been scraping our lands bare of anyone who can hold weapons. By the time those riders finish gathering our knights and petty lords,  we will have another five hundred beyond that.”

Alyssa’s finger traced the areas around Riverhold briefly; “One thousand five hundred is nowhere near enough to hold off the Lannisters. Now that Edmure has given me authority to act, I can call upon Pinkmaiden, Wayfarer’s Rest and Atranta, as Warden of the Western Hills. Will that be enough to make a difference? They can all call more men than us can’t they?”

To her surprise, Brynden shook his shaggy head. “Unfortunately not. Pinkmaiden can call nearly three thousand, but Lord Clement hasn’t had the warning we have. I doubt he could do more than two and a half thousand. As for Wayfarer’s Rest, they lost some of their strength to us with the lands they sold.  If they had the time, they could muster two thousand four hundred, while Atranta could send two thousand, but as it is, I wouldn’t expect more than two thousand and sixteen hundred respectively.

Adding numbers in her head while he spoke, Alyssa frowned at the total. “Seventy-six hundred. Just over seven and a half thousand most likely. Against forty thousand. We can’t face the full might of the West with this, we’d be crushed in an hour.” Looking at the map again, her gaze moved over the Golden Tooth thoughtfully. “You said _two_ hosts, correct? Not one army, but two. Why divide a host so great that it could crush almost any force we could field?” She bit at her fingernail for a moment. “Were both hosts headed the same direction?”

Quickly, Brynden thought back. “No, the Kingslayer was marching down the River Road towards the Tooth, while Tywin was headed south, towards Lannisport.”

_ Lannisport… _

Of its own volition, her hand moved to point at it before she could think about it, and she noticed the tip of her finger resting on a road leading away from Lannisport. Focusing now, she traced it past Hornvale to Deep Den, where it ran alternatively through the Reach and the Riverlands, before heading east, to King’s Landing. Following it back to Deep Den, she tapped her finger on the pass that led out of the mountains into the Riverlands. Suddenly, she jerked in her chair as if she was struck.

_ That’s it. _

“We are fools, uncle. Why split a large army? To attack two places at once. Lord Tywin knows his lands. He knows the mountains and the passes. He knows we’d block the Tooth at the first sight of Lannister banners, so he plays us for fools. He sends the Kingslayer to march on Riverrun, and while our forces are defending the pass or mustering at Riverrun, he moves his own army south down the Gold Road, swings north near Pinkmaiden, and from there is within striking range of many of Riverrun’s most important bannermen. Pinkmaiden, Wayfarer’s Rest and Atranta, not to mention he can head north and take Lychester, Stone Hedge, Darry and Harrenhal while their forces are gone. 

Half the Riverlands lost in a stroke, and the rest of Edmure’s bannermen will want to head home to defend their seats. If that happens, we’re finished. He will cross the Trident and take each remaining castle one by one, and then come back west to strike our army in the rear, if the Kingslayer hasn’t already won and attacked Riverrun. Our only hope then would be the Starks or Arryns coming to our aid, and Lord Tywin would be well positioned to cut the Kingsroad, stopping forces from the North or Vale from reaching us.”

As the implications struck him, Brynden frowned. “So what are you thinking, then?”

Alyssa’s hand moved from Hornvale to Riverhold. “The strength of his strategy is also its weakness. The full force of his host would crush us like a nut under a hammer, but each separate half, we just might have a chance against.”

Silence was her answer for a moment, before Brynden responded; “A chance, true, but not a large one. Seven and a half thousand against twenty is still hard odds, the strategy must be clever and near foolproof to pull this off. And we have only forty days to prepare.”

Taking a deep breath, Alyssa nodded, fully aware of the responsibility placed in her hands.

Brynden snorted. “Well then. What do you have in mind?”

Alyssa placed her head in her hands, and thought for a few moments. Brynden dared not interrupt her; he recognised that face, the same face Hoster used when he was making plans. At length, she raised her head, and outlined her plan. When she was finished, Brynden whistled. “I said you would need a clever strategy, and this is certainly ambitious. There’s no two ways about this though, this works or we lose and we die. We should have the men and the time to pull it off though.”

Surprisingly, Alyssa didn’t smile at this, instead staring at the map as if lost in thought. Following her gaze, Brynden saw her eyes locked on Pinkmaiden Castle. “What’s wrong? Clement Piper is a loyal bannerman to Riverrun, he’ll obey your call with Edmure’s authority behind you.”

Red hair waved as Alyssa shook her head. “That’s not the problem, Uncle. We can’t hold the Kingslayer without Lord Piper’s levies, but Lord Tywin’s path will lead him straight past Pinkmaiden. And without his men, Lord Piper has no chance of defending Pinkmaiden.”

Brynden seemed to slump, his sudden exhaustion showing his true age. “Even with his levies Alyssa, Lord Piper has three thousand men if he arms green boys and old men, and he cannot fit even a fraction of that inside Pinkmaiden for long. Lord Tywin has twenty thousand fighting men, and Pinkmaiden has plenty of forests nearby to make rams, towers, ladders and stone throwers with. We both know Pinkmaiden is no Riverhold, if Lord Tywin wants Pinkmaiden he will have it.”

Alyssa rested her chin on her hand. “And Wayfarer’s Rest and Atranta are in the same situation, are they not?” A nod of Brynden’s shaggy head was her answer, and her eyes hardened as she came to a decision. “Uncle, bring me quill and ink.” The requested items were quickly placed before her, and she wrote out letters to Lords Vance, Piper and Vance, informing them of the situation, ordering them to bring their levies to Riverhold and offering her walls to shelter their people, as their seats were likely to fall to Tywin’s army. Sanding the letters, she sealed them and handed them to Brynden. 

“Take these to the maester, Uncle and tell him they are to go with his fastest ravens to Pinkmaiden, Wayfarer’s Rest and Atranta.” Brynden turned to leave, but Alyssa suddenly held up her hand. “Wait, I should let Edmure know of the plan.” Swiftly, she penned another letter, writing down the details of the Lannister armies, and her proposed plan. Inking her quill afresh, she thought for a moment, before concluding with a few more strokes of the quill.

_ Even if we do not win, I swear to you that we will blood the Lion before we fall. _

_ Whatever you decide brother, I pray that you respond quickly. The Lions are on the move, and time is not on our side. _

_ Wish father well for me, from your sister. _

_ Alyssa Tully, Lady of Riverhold and Warden of the Western Hills. _

 

Alyssa handed the scroll to Brynden. “Take this to the maester with the other, please Uncle, that one is for Riverrun with his swiftest bird.”

Brynden nodded and turned to leave, Alyssa barely noticing, her attention already on the wooden case she was extracting from a cupboard, a gift from Edmure the day she was named Warden. Clicking open the latches, she selected two cherrywood lion heads from the four available and placed them on her table near Casterly Rock. She added a fish next to Riverrun, and smiled before placing the oak dolphin atop Riverhold.

_ Nothing more to do now but await Edmure’s response. _

Luckily, the very next day, after she had bathed, dressed and eaten, a shriek drew her attention skyward, where a raven was swooping towards the maester’s tower. Already on the move, she headed for the ravenry. By the time she reached it, Brynden was already there, handing her the scroll the maester had just removed from the exhausted bird’s leg. Slitting upon the crucial message, with Brynden and the maester looking on, she cleared her throat and began to read.

“My lady sister.

What a wonderful idea! You defeat the Kingslayer and I’ll declaw the Old Lion! Why didn’t I think of this before? Of course there’s glory enough for us both. Together, the youngest children of Hoster Tully will redeem the family by remedying the mistakes made by the elder. Think about it; by the time Father wakes up we can proudly tell him we did the name Tully proud and defended the Riverlands as he would have!

May the Seven guide your battles sister, and watch over you.

Ser Edmure Tully, Acting Lord of Riverrun and Paramount of the Trident.”

 

Brynden grunted. “So that’s that then.”

Alyssa nodded, the message now sending home the fact that in a little more than two weeks, she would be fighting a war against the most powerful House in Westeros. Truth be told, the thought made her more than a little nervous. Was it even possible to defeat Tywin Lannister in battle?

“Uncle, am I doing the right thing here?”

Brynden Tully thought for a few seconds before replying. “If by that you mean your strategy, we won’t know until after the battle. As for the war, well truthfully you don’t have a choice. That was taken away from us when Catelyn seized the Imp, and then what shards of hope that remained were crushed when Robert went and got himself killed.” Brynden shook his head. “A hunting accident. Robert was an old drunk, but I never thought he’d be THAT foolish. Now we are commanded to bend the knee to  _ His Grace King Joffrey Baratheon” _ . He spat. “Baratheon, hah! That’s a Lannister king on the throne now, and there’ll be no peace until it suits Lannister wants. No, sweet niece, we’re in this until death or victory, one way or the other”.

Alyssa’s face was grim as she nodded. “That makes it simple then, I suppose”.

Brynden gave a barking laugh. “I suppose it does at that.” He snapped back into a professional mode. “If I have your leave, my lady?”

Alyssa nodded, and Brynden turned to go back to organising the men, while Alyssa strode to the front gate, to greet a party of riders bearing the dancing maiden of Piper on shield and surcoat, hundreds of infantry marching behind them, with groups of smallfolk trailing behind that. Lord Clement Piper, most powerful of the lords she could command, had evidently heeded her advice and taken all his people, men, women and child, to Riverhold.

The weeks had passed quickly, with a raven arriving from King’s Landing informing them of the arrest of Lord Eddard Stark and that Alyssa and Brynden present themselves at court to swear fealty to Joffrey. Alyssa tossed it in her fire. More men arrived from Wayfarer’s Rest, as well as from their cousins, the Vances of Atranta, with Brynden frantically attempting to turn all the troops arriving at Riverhold into one cohesive army. But now the time had come. 

The last of Atranta’s men had arrived a week previously, the men were now one host answering to the call of Riverhold, the defense preparations had been fully made, commands had been given and orders handed out. Both Lords Vance had also taken her advice, and all the smallfolk were sheltering inside Riverhold. The children were helping to make arrows, and the women were preparing to help heal the wounded. Alyssa sat astride her horse along with her uncle and close to two thousand Tully cavalry behind her, with the rest of the army assembled and ready, as the Lannister column, recognisable by the crimson cloaks , marched up the River Road towards Riverhold.

Banners flapped in the wind as they approached, and Alyssa found herself recognising some of the sigils from her studies. The golden lion of Lannister flew over the right wing of the approaching host, led by a man in a lion-headed helm who could only be Ser Jaime Lannister himself. The red ox of Prester dominated the left and at the centre, the purple unicorn of House Brax of Hornvale raised its head proudly.

As they reached the point where the River Road curved north, the point marking the border between the lands sworn to Riverrun and Riverhold, they turned off onto the short plain leading to the castle itself. Alyssa spurred her horse forward and from the Lannister ranks Jaime did the same, both riding forward along with banner bearers and their commanders. When both groups were two metres apart, Alyssa drew rein and held up her hand, causing both Tully and Lannister men to halt.


	16. The Battle of Riverhold

Jaime Lannister pushed up the visor of his magnificent golden lion’s head helm and smiled, causing the sun to glint off his white teeth in a manner that vexed her. “Lady Alyssa, pleasant day isn’t it.”

Politely, she smiled back at him, as if she still had no idea what was happening. “Ser Jaime. What business does a Kingsguard have at my humble seat?”

His lips widened in a grin as the sun glinted off his golden plate and mail. “See any white armour here? No Kingsguard today, just plain old me. Your sister has my brother. I want him back.”

Happy to continue this mummer’s farce as long as he did, Alyssa nodded in mock thought; “Then why not ask my sister, as you said, she has him and I don’t?”

Jaime sighed as if he was on a stage “I plan to, unfortunately I need to cross your lands to get there, and I can’t afford to leave an enemy at my back.”

Alyssa’s smile faded, pretence gone. “Then we have a problem, you see you failed to warn my lord father of your intent, and to ask his permission to cross his lands. By order of Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Trident, you are not permitted to enter the Riverlands, men of the West. Return to Casterly Rock at once.”

Jaime glanced at the field in front of Riverhold. Two groups of Tully foot, that his experienced eye told him numbered close to three thousand each, and a group of roughly two thousand cavalry, maybe a third of which was knights, in the middle. He turned to look at his own host and reconfirm his numbers. Nearly six thousand of the best cavalry in the Westerlands rode with him, and beside them marched more than thirteen thousand infantry in ringmail and half helms. Scornfully, he looked at the ragtag lines of Riverland peasants in leather and mail shirts with spears and short swords, and he laughed out loud. “I may not have made myself clear, my lady, but I intend to have Riverhold, whether you force me to take it or yield peacefully is up to you. Your sisters have my brother and a Lannister always pay his debts.”

Alyssa frowned. “You say that, but if I recall correctly, your House in fact owes a debt to me. Your lord father swore a solemn vow that no army of the West would cross my lands without my leave or attack my seat while he breathed. So I have to wonder, has Tywin died without my knowledge, or has your entire House thrown aside their oath and honor??”

Jaime smiled again in his cocky manner. “You’re quick, Lady Tully. Does this answer your question?” He drew his sword, causing murmurs around him on both sides at the breach of etiquette, and Alyssa gasped as the weapon cleared its scabbard. Blood-red steel rippling in the sun, there was only one sword in Westeros like that, and Alyssa knew it very well.

“Red Rain.”

“Red Rain?” The Kingslayer laughed bitterly. “I’m afraid my father thought that unfitting for a Lannister.” He held up the sword for Alyssa to inspect, gripping only the top of the pommel with finger and thumb in a grip so slight Alyssa was sure it must have been practiced, any other man would have dropped the sword. When she had given Red Rain to Lord Tywin, it had had a silver hilt covered in rubies. The silver was gone, replaced by gold, and the large ruby that had formed the pommel had been removed. In its place, a golden lion’s head bared its teeth, the handgrip done in golden wire to resemble its fur. Paws with claws unsheathed created the guard, and now that Alyssa looked more closely, she could see its other two legs and tail on the scabbard. When the sword was sheathed, a golden lion would hang at Ser Jaime’s side. 

The rubies, she could now see, had not gone to waste, the teeth of the lion were carved from them, as were the claws, and a trail of tiny rubies precisely placed continued down the hilt. Gripping it now by the guard, the Kingslayer held it up to the light, pommel up, and suddenly everything became clear to Alyssa. The entire effect was to create a rather gruesome image of a lion having just feasted on a kill, claws and teeth still red, blood dripping from its mouth. Instinctively, she recoiled and a cruel smirk crossed Jaime’s lips.

“Bloodclaw seemed a better name for a Lannister, and if you bar our path, then I’m afraid my claws will be red with fish blood today. Not that it matters, we both know this is going to end in a fight anyway, but I should at least try. In the name of Joffrey of the House Baratheon, First of His Name, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men and Protector of the Realm, you are ordered to dismiss your host and travel with me to King’s Landing, to swear fealty to His Grace. Refusal will be treated as treason, and met with death.”

Alyssa gritted her teeth. “So even the sworn word of the mighty Lord Paramount of the West is worth nothing, House Lannister really does have shit for honor!” she shouted.

Jaime, surprisingly, kept smiling. “House Lannister may have shit for honor, but from the look of your army” as he indicated them with a sweep of his arm, “House Tully has shit for soldiers”. The Lannister lines broke out in laughter again, and Alyssa felt herself consumed by fiery, hot rage. This fucking Lannister was MOCKING her and her House! She took a deep breath, allowing the rage to fill her, to fuel her courage and strength for what she knew would come next.

She bit off “Your father swore a sacred vow to me, when you treat the laws of gods and men like shit, don’t be surprised if they no longer protect you a day you need them the most”.

Jaime replied “Well then, I guess we Lannisters should hope that day never comes, we’ve done some bad things over the years”. His men broke out into rollicking laughter again. Jaime Lannister’s golden hair gleamed in the sun like his armor and his teeth, as his lips pulled back into the cocky grin Alyssa was already beginning to hate. “Enough talking.”

Tapping his heels into the side of his horse, he took the seven-coloured banner of peace from his cousin Willem, and moved a few paces forward before thrusting the pole into the mud. His horse trotted back to his generals, as Jaime smirked at Alyssa’s look of confusion. “I’ll give you until dawn tomorrow. If’ you see reason, Lady Alyssa, then fly the banner over Riverhold. If you’re determined to go through with this, well then simply return it to me” his eyes flashed darkly “because I won’t be accepting it later. Fight or yield, it’s your choice, Lady Tully.”

Alyssa felt the eyes of every man in both armies watching her, and time seemed to slow to a crawl as slowly, one hoof splashing in the mud after the other, she trotted her horse over to the rainbow coloured peace banner, still fluttering in the wind while tied to its spear. Pulling it from the mud, she felt its weight for a second, and saw Lannister’s face begin to form a smirk of satisfaction as he began to ride back towards his lines with his generals. In that moment, her choice was made.

“This is my answer.”

Jaime turned, and with a flick of her wrist, she sent the rainbow cloth winding around the pole. Then, changing her grip on it, with a single step and a roar of effort, she snapped her arm forward and hurled the spear, flag of truce and all, at Ser Jaime Lannister’s command group. 

The laughter stopped immediately as Jaime ducked, the spear passing through the space where his head had been, and he smirked as it missed Lord Quenten Banefort by a handspan, only for the smirk to be replaced by rage as his cousin Willem, Lord Quenten’s squire, fell from his horse with a cry, to lie stricken in the dirt. The boy’s ringmail had failed to prevent the heavy spear from piercing his chest, the seven-coloured cloth unwinding and blowing in the wind as a final indignity while blood pooled on the ground, mingling with his golden hair. Alyssa put her spurs to her horse and rode hard for her own lines as Jaime Lannister’s face twisted in bitter rage. The crimson sword of House Lannister sang from its sheath, eager to taste blood, and with a shout the heavily-armoured Lannister mounted knights charged forward, eager to crush those who had dared defy the might of the Lion.  

The armoured knights who answered to the call of Casterly Rock were fearsome indeed. Mounted on mighty battlehorses, they were clad head to toe in thick steel plates, with ringmail under this and greathelms protecting their heads.  Thick oaken shields were gripped in their left hands, while long lances tipped with cruel steel points were couched under their arms. At their saddles swung longswords, maces, battleaxes and all other weapons of war that a man might need.  The great golden lion of Lannister roared across their shields, their chests, their banners and even some of their horses, signifying that thanks to Lord Tywin’s coin and care, these men were the fighting elite of Westeros. The foot gripped crossbows and pikes where other lords would merely give shortbows and spears. No expense had been spared to give the levies of House Lannister the best equipment and training in the land.

But as powerful as they were, as heavily armed and armoured as they were, even they had their weaknesses, and with plenty of warning Alyssa had prepared her defences well. A full third of the stretch of ground in front of Riverhold was covered in small pits, deep enough for a man to turn an ankle or a horse to break a leg. Where there were no pits, there were  three metre long wooden spikes driven into the ground, sticking out at angles that would impale any horse foolish enough to charge them along with its rider. If one somehow got through that, with the bridge drawn up Riverhold was an island, making it near impossible to get a battering ram or siege tower up to the walls. With a stroke of good fortune for Alyssa, even nature opposed the Lannisters as the heavy rains of the last few days had turned the rich, fertile soil of the Riverlands to thick, red mud that would slow any horse to almost walking pace.   

Ranks of Tully soldiers lined either side of the stretch of trapped ground. The banners of Houses Vance of Atranta and Wayfarer’s Rest flew over the left group, their left flank protected by a formidable wall of spikes, caltrops and palisades stretching to the River Road. On the right, the men under the dancing maiden of Piper and the dolphin of Tully had their flank protected by more spikes and defences, those themselves touching the river running north-east of Riverhold. Spearmen made up the front rank, simple Riverlands peasants pressed into service by their lords. Untrained they may be, but the sharp points at the end of long wooden shafts made for an effective deterrent. 

Behind them stood the true barrier; men at arms in half-helms and ringmail, razor-sharp swords and axes in their hands, maces swinging from belts. The sigils of every one of her brother’s bannermen with a seat that was west of the Red Fork and south of Riverrun was displayed across the shields of those present. The dancing maiden of House Piper, the quartered yellow eyes and black dragon of House Vance of Wayfarer’s Rest, the quartered green dragon and grey tower of their cousins House Vance of Atranta, as well of course her own grey dolphin, resting on the border between the blue of the Riverlands and the red Western hills.

After them, a block of archers stood on each side, fitting arrows to their shortbows. Alyssa had mustered the full might of the south-western part of the Riverlands, and Jaime knew that if he attempted to force his way through the gauntlet of traps in front of Riverhold, both flanks would rain arrows on him. He didn’t become such a respected general by making stupid moves like that. Fortunately for him, he didn’t have to. His men were disciplined enough that they should pick up on his intentions almost instantly. As he opened his mouth to order the charge, Alyssa reached Piper’s lines and rode down a small gap between his forces and the spikes, wide enough only for one. As soon as she passed, Piper’s men spread out slightly, preventing the Lannisters from following, while she regrouped with Brynden and her cavalry.

Drawing his sword, he clapped his heels into the side of his horse and the Lannister horse began moving towards Riverhold. They began at a trot, the mud restricting their speed but stride by stride their horses gained pace, until they were a wall of bristling lances galloping rapidly for Riverhold. The Tully forces laughed at the Lannisters stupidity, but that laughter turned to fear when it turned out that Jaime’s men weren’t heading straight through the spikes. Instead, at a wave of his hand, the Lannister knights instead wheeled and followed him on a charge towards their new target, the lines of Riverlands foot blocking the right flank in an attempt to funnel the Lannisters into the traps.

Piper’s men, who had shielded Alyssa’s escape.  Upon realising that their assumption of safety was false, the peasants began to panic, on the verge of running. Alyssa bit her lip, a dot of blood running down her chin. This was the point where everything hung in the balance, would her commanders trust her and stick to the plan? She gave a brief prayer to the Warrior.

Her prayers were answered when Lord Clement Piper clashed his sword against his shield violently before he lost complete control of his men and gave an order. The combination of the men-at-arms backing them up and a lord giving them orders again gave the spearmen new heart. Obeying his command, they picked up their spears and braced themselves, preparing for the charge. In front of Riverhold, Alyssa drew rein and looked to Brynden as he waited behind her with the horse. He stared at her for a second, looked around to assess the battlefield, and then gave her a reassuring nod.  

Jaime Lannister gave a bloodthirsty grin of anticipation as his men neared the line of unfortunate Tully soldiers, blood-red blade in his hand singing to taste flesh.  The Riverlands foot continued to fall back and back, far too slowly compared to the pace of the Lannister charge. With both speed and momentum on their side, the Lannister cavalry smoothly flowed into an iron spearhead that would smash through anything or anyone unfortunate enough to be in its path. Knights made up the spear’s tip, the weight of their charge enough to smash a hole in the Tully lines. After them came the blade, lighter cavalry, mounted men at arms; not as heavy but faster, to ride down the Tully foot once the knights had broken their lines. 

A volley of arrows rained down raggedly on the knights, but bounced off their armour, Riverlands shortbows lacking the power to penetrate the plate and mail worn by the knights. Occasionally a lucky shaft found a gap in armour or killed a horse, but on the whole the charge rushed on unimpeded. A hundred feet until the first knights reached the Tully lines. Eighty.  Sixty. As the distance narrowed to fifty feet, his horse screamed in agony and collapsed, flinging Jaime from his saddle. As he struggled to his feet, a glint of metal close to his face caught his eye, and still half-stunned, he reached out and plucked the object from the mud. It appeared to be a nail, make that two nails, but twisted around each other in a shape that was horribly familiar to Jaime!

_ Caltrops! _

Before he could warn his men, the charge continued, cavalry unable to stop on a copper, and Jaime cursed himself for his arrogance, knowing his men would pay the price. The iron fist of the Lannister charge disintegrated into screams of both men and beasts, as the warhorses crashed to the ground screaming, razor-sharp metal piercing their hooves. Many knights were killed instantly as the weight of warhorse and barding crushed them, while others were luckier, simply pinned to the ground by the weight of their fallen steeds.  

Those fortunate enough to not be in the front ranks found themselves passing over the trapped ground regardless, crushing the first rank under them. The second rank crashed into it and collapsed, the subsequent ranks doing the same until the ground was covered in fallen men and horses. Some were stirring while others remained morbidly still.  The fifth rank was able to draw rein in time and come to a halt, four hundred men thanking the Seven for their deliverance, those behind them following their example. 

Having been in the front rank, Jaime’s horse had crumpled first. Luckily, the golden-haired man was able to kick his feet free of the stirrups and leap from his saddle. Desperation and the momentum of his horse’s fall did what Jaime alone could not, carrying him to a landing past the caltrops and rolling to break his fall. As he rolled, his eyes widened and he dug the point of his shield into the ground, desperately trying to arrest his movement. The shield stuck, and he gasped in relief as he came to a halt moments before his roll could carry him into the nearby pit.  His helm was gone, a casualty of his fall but other than that he was unscathed, although covered in mud. 

Groaning as he got to his feet, he breathed a sigh of relief, before turning to look at the pit that had nearly been his end. As they went, it was fairly large, ten feet wide if he was any judge, and long enough to reach the spikes on each side.  He would have guessed that it was six feet deep, the razor-sharp points jutting out half of that. Suddenly the Tully girl’s plan crystallised in his mind, as clear as if she’d told him herself. 

_ The caltrops keep our cavalry away, and the pit blocks our foot. She killed Willem to make me angry, so to make me charge into this ground blindly. I should have expected that girl to have traps set, she had weeks to prepare her defences. But what’s her next move? _

“Loose!”

_ Oh. _

At Lord Piper’s roared command, hundreds of archers bent their bows and released, sending a hail of deadly shafts down towards the stricken Lannister cavalry. Cursing Piper’s cowardice in his mind, Jaime had time only to dive to the ground and hold up his shield, muttering the mantra echoed by hundreds of his men as they clung to their only protection. “Oak and iron guard me well, or else I’m dead and doomed to hell.”

Men and horses alike screamed as the arrows found flesh, and after a moment, Jaime glanced out from under the rim. What he saw wasn’t good. The armor of his knights had held up for the most part, however the horses weren’t so lucky; peppered with bolts and arrows, hardly any were still standing. Those not immediately killed had panicked at the sight of so many other horses perishing; throwing their riders and fleeing, or blindly galloping away, through more of the caltrop-strewn ground, bringing them too down.

What few cavalry remained as yet unharmed, at the back of the charge, were evidently, and quite understandably, shocked and horrified at the sight and were retreating back towards the road. Jaime, now all but alone in front of the enemy lines, thought this was a fine idea and rose from the mud.

Raising Bloodclaw, he suddenly realised with a flash of fear that his sword hand was empty, and looked frantically around.

_ Father spent so long attempting to acquire a new Valyrian steel sword for House Lannister, he would be furious if I lost it. _

Scanning the battlefield, he noticed the crimson blade lying a few inches from where he had been, and bent to retrieve it. Bringing up his shield, he slowly began to back towards his own men as he waved the blood-red steel back and forth, trusting in his fearsome reputation to keep the Riverlands foot at bay. He didn’t get far before a short figure strode forth from the Tully lines. Clad in blue enamelled armour with a pink woman emblazoned upon it, it could only be Lord Clement Piper, and he pointed his sword at Jaime.  

“A hundred gold dragons to the man who brings me his head!”

Spurred into action by this, the spearmen charged towards Jaime, weapons raised and shouting taunts. Now Jaime Lannister was many things. A peerless swordsman, a fine lover, an arrogant man, yes, he admitted that now. But one thing no man would ever rightly call him was fool, and attempting to battle three thousand men by himself was not arrogance, it was sheer idiocy. Abandoning all pretence of bravery, Jaime threw down his shield to free his arm, turned on his heel and ran for his life, leaping over the killing ground, shuddering as he used men and horses as footholds, climbing on dead, dying and wounded alike, the latter screaming as he stepped on them. Finally reaching the safety of his lines, he bent double, breathing heavily from his sprint in plate and mail, and turned around, immediately looking away again at what he saw.

While they had enjoyed the chase, even the offer of a hundred dragons hadn’t been enough to convince the spearmen to risk their lives leaping the pit to follow him, leaving Jaime thanking his lucky stars for the first time that day. Thousands of his men hadn’t been so lucky, and the left wing of his army was all but gone, those not dead or wounded terrified at the sight and in no condition to fight further this day.

Looking back to the rest of his forces, he found that his cavalry formations had been broken. Most of his knights were gone, and those fortunate enough not to fall for the trap were fleeing the field, unnerved by the sight of so many of their comrades dying so quickly. They were the lucky ones. However, the centre and right wing remained untouched.

_ Thirteen thousand foot. Plus three thousand or so cavalry. The Tully girl’s played her little trick, it can only be played once. Well, twice, I expect if I was fool enough to attack their left flank now I’d find a similar surprise waiting. But sixteen thousand is still enough to carry the day. _

As he regained his breath, and his composure, the rage filling his mind since Willem’s death began to drain away, allowing him to think again.

_ What’s her plan here? She lures me into that trap to destroy my cavalry, and then prevents them from following with that pit. She had a moon to be ready for this battle, she obviously isn’t the green girl I expected, but what’s her end game? _

From his position of relative safety, Jaime scanned the battlefield carefully. The Tully forces had deployed in a diagonal line running north-east to south-west, parallelling the course of the Red Fork, and he had drawn up his own forces across from theirs. Riverhold itself rose proudly from the middle of the river, with the space in front of the castle itself left almost clear.  Two hundred feet or so out from the walls, Lord Piper defended the Tully right flank. In front of his men was the caltrops and pit that had destroyed Jaime’s cavalry. Piper had put the Red Fork to his right side, using the river itself as a shield. 

To the left of Piper’s force, a massive amount of spikes, earthenworks and pits stretched across the centre of the battlefield, wide enough to protect Vance’s right side as he held the left flank, and long enough to stretch halfway to the River Road. His own foot occupied the remaining space. As for Vance’s men, Jaime would have bet all the gold in Casterly Rock that a similar setup of caltrops and pit defended them from attack, should Ser Forley Prester’s cavalry, sitting helplessly on that wing, try anything. On Vance’s left, another massive line of defences, though longer and thinner, extended until it to, touched the River Road.

Alyssa Tully waited in the space close to the castle walls, the Tully heavy and light horse behind her. It was when he caught a glimpse of Alyssa Tully sitting calmly at the head of her cavalry, watching his knights disintegrate, that he understood.

_ The battlefield. She’s divided it with those pits and spikes, creating this picture in my mind of separate sides. She’s split her foot to lure me into doing the same to attack both sides, then she’ll hit one of my forces with her cavalry, while my remaining horse are unable to pass those caltrops to assist. _

Across the field, she smirked and Jaime clenched a fist, the last of his anger replaced by cold determination.

_ I’m not playing that game. I still have twice her numbers, I’ll leverage that and keep my foot together.  I’ll destroy her host piece by piece. First up is her other flank, they won’t be expecting an attack yet. _

Holding the right wing’s cavalry back, Jaime turned to his signaller; “Signal the foot to advance”. The man nodded, and trumpets rang out. The Lannister footmen were well-trained, and despite their fear, they obeyed the call almost without thinking, forming up and advancing across the field towards Lord Vance’s men, thus far unengaged. Lord Vance ordered his men to prepare to receive, and they braced their spears against the ground, forming a spear wall. Jaime held up his hand, the trumpets sounded again and his host stopped, well out of range. He turned to Lord Andros Brax, commanding the centre of the foot.

“Lord Andros, have the men form ranks. Archers in the centre, pikes and spears on the outside, all others between them. We need a solid shield wall.”

Too well disciplined to ask what was in his commander’s mind, Andros Brax merely nodded, before turning to his men and beginning to give commands. One of the cavalry dismounted, Jaime taking the offered horse with a smile. It took the best part of an hour, the Tullys willing to wait patiently outside bow shot, but eventually the Lannister host was arrayed as per Jaime’s commands. He turned to the captain commanding the front rank, men with greatswords and huge axes. “We advance down the centre of the field. Your men will clear us a path through the defences. The archers and crossbowmen will cover you. Once you’ve cleared a path, the cavalry will follow us. Do you understand?”

The grim-faced captain nodded, the brindled boar of Crakehall displayed proudly on his broad chest, then turned to his men. “Time to smash these little spikes apart. Come on!” The men of Crakehall were as large as their captain, and they roared in response, charging up to the defences and beginning to hack away at them.  

Jaime could see Lord Vance looking towards his archers and shouting commands, causing them to begin forming up to rain arrows on the Lannisters. In response, Jaime turned to Lord Brax. “Crossbows.”

Andros Brax nodded, and pitched his voice to be heard by the men. “Crossbows, make ready!” Smoothly, nearly a thousand crossbows rose to firing position. “Loose!”

Strings smacked into stocks and a hail of bolts slammed into Lord Vance’s archers, causing screams as many pulled bolts from their body or collapsed, steel bolts in vital areas. Jaime watched in satisfaction as the planned volley from the Tullys failed to materialise. “Archers.”

Lord Brax roared another command, and the third rank of the army fitted arrows to their bows, drawing back the strings. Jaime studied the Tullys for a moment, before raising his hand and lowering it.

“Loose!” Lord Brax shouted the command loudly enough to be heard in Riverhold, and a literal rain of arrows pelted the Tully lines, hundreds more men screaming and collapsing. The Lannister archers nocked again, but Jaime held up his hand for them to wait as he saw Lord Vance frantically giving orders to his signaller. Horns rang out among the Tully lines, and he watched with satisfaction as Lord Vance’s men began a steady retreat towards Riverhold.  A grin split his face as he saw hundreds of Tullys left on the field, some struggling to move, others simply screaming in pain. He lowered his hand, and another flight of arrows flew, finishing what the first had started and silencing most of the wounded, in all probability, quite mercifully. Jaime breathed a sigh of relief as the Tullys retreated.

_ Archers may be cowards, but they certainly are useful tools. _

Unlike the Tully force, the Lannister ranged troops were armed with crossbows and longbows. Crossbows fired faster than longbows, for the first shot at least, but had less range and power. Longbows on the other hand required years of training to use effectively, but could down even a knight in full plate. In contrast, the Tully archers had only a few longbows, being armed in the main with the cheaper, less powerful shortbows. shortbows required much less training to use effectively, so peasants could be armed and effective with them with relative ease. Unfortunately for Lord Vance, this lack of range meant that Jaime’s archers could rain arrows on his men until they broke without exposing themselves to return fire, forcing Vance to close if he did not want his men to break.

_ If that happens, I have nearly five times his foot, the weight of my numbers will carry the day easily. _

Looking back to the battlefield, he saw that Lord Vance’s men had halted their retreat, having been stopped by the water of Riverhold’s moat. Jaime’s grin widened as he realised that Vance’s men were now pinned down, and that the Tully left wing was reduced by around a third. It dropped, however, when he realized that Vance had reorganized his archers, and was now prepared to start firing volleys as soon as the Lannisters were in range. If Jaime moved his archers up, it would be a ranged duel, which he would eventually win due to sheer numbers, but he would lose many of his own archers in doing so. The sound of hooves alerted him to the Tully cavalry, so far uncommitted, moving to the right and instantly the Tully girl’s plan was revealed to him.

_ If I keep my men back and move my archers to the front of the lines to send arrows from beyond her range, her cavalry will charge, and lacking enough knights to hold them off, they will smash my archers, returning the range advantage to her side. Lord Brax has only a thousand cavalry, if he attempts to face her mounted forces he’ll be crushed.  _

_ She’s baiting me. If I send in Ser Forley’s knights to counter hers, he’ll fall for the same trap that I did, and if he moves across in small groups, they’ll be smashed by her cavalry before they can regroup. She has fooled me once, she will not fool me a second time. I still have the advantage in foot, if her cavalry attack that, they will be impaled upon spears like fish on sticks.  _

He turned to Lord Brax; “Begin the advance. Have the archers loose as we march, aim isn’t a priority as long as they keep the Tullys cowering behind their shields. Front rank to clear their defences.”

Brax bowed, before giving the orders. Trumpets blared, and the Lannister foot marched forwards, soldiers occasionally tossing a caltrop aside or waiting while enormous swords and axes hacked their way through wooden spikes or earthen walls. After a few minutes, the path to Riverhold was clear, and Jaime’s men marched on, moving steadily forward until they were just out of longbow range of Vance’s force. Jaime frowned, knowing this was the dangerous time.

_ We’re close to the edge of her catapult range as well, if we move forward to close with Vance, Riverhold’s garrison and defences will come into play. They’ve had weeks to aim those catapults properly, that first barrage will land exactly where she wants it to. But once they’ve all fired, they’ll each take minutes to reload. If I can break Vance before they are, I can pull back out of range. _

“Lord Andros, archers are to hold position and rain volleys on them should they attack. Infantry is to raise shields and move forward at a fast march. We will close as quickly as possible to minimise the time exposed to their arrows. Our centre is heavily spread out to reduce the damage from their catapults.”

Understanding full well what danger they were in, Lord Brax gave the orders with a white face, and the Lannister army began moving quickly towards Riverhold, now a hollow square with nearly unbreakable sides.  Arrows flew at them from the Tully archers, but rarely did damage, mainly bouncing off shields or helmets, Jaime having put his more heavily armored men at arms in the front rank. As their volleys had little effect, the Tully foot attempted to fall back, only to be stopped by the wide waters of the Red Fork that formed Riverhold’s moat. Seeing the Tullys fear, the Lannister men increased their pace, at a rate that would have them reach Riverhold in roughly five minutes. Two hundred feet out from the walls, they passed another pathetic defence, a trench not even a foot deep scoured thinly into the ground. 

It was just as the Lannister host crossed the trench that it happened. Brynden Tully blew a horn hanging from his saddle and unseen to Jaime, men inside Riverhold’s walls reacted immediately, placing rocks into baskets and waiting for the command. As his front line neared a strange pile of rocks a hundred feet away from Riverhold, the pieces came together in his mind and he realized what was happening, even as he drew breath to shout to his men. Whether by ill fortune or fate, his shout came at the same moment as another.

“Brace!”

“Now!” Alyssa Tully shouted.

The Blackfish blew the horn again and Riverhold’s catapults spoke, counterweights swinging and hurling boulders weighing fifty pounds each over the walls at the Lannister forces. Drawn up with shields raised and covering their heads and sides, House Lannister’s men could have weathered a literal rain of arrows. The huge rocks were a different matter, their sheer weight crushing shields, killing men and smashing his formations in an instant. Jaime dived to the ground as a boulder soared overhead, a shot that would have taken the head off a lesser man.  He shouted an order, but realized with a stab of horror that his men could neither see nor hear him while he was among them. Even as he got to his feet, the catapults were being slowly reloaded, but a more immediate threat had appeared. 

With the Lannister defensive formations shattered and the foot dazed, helpless and well within their range, Riverhold’s archers were taking full advantage of the chance they’d been given. A storm of arrows flew out not only from atop but inside the walls and landed among the foot, causing screams of pain and in some cases, sending men to the Stranger’s side out right. Not only that, but now the scorpions were speaking, deadly bolts striking down any too close to the Tully fortress. Even as he watched, another volley of deadly shafts struck home, more of his men collapsing as the razor-sharp broadheads found gaps in armour, in some cases, a lethal one.  Not only were there hundreds of them, but his archers had been downed and dazed by the wave of rocks. 

With no way of returning fire and unwilling to retreat, Lord Brax’s men could only stand there and take the waves of arrows being sent their way. This had to stop, now. Jaime shouted an order, but he realized in annoyance that his men couldn’t recognise him standing there covered in mud like them. Ripping the tunic off a fallen soldier, he turned it inside out to find a clean patch and scrubbed frantically at his breastplate until the gold shone through again. Then, grasping the reins of a leaderless horse, he swung himself into the saddle with one quick motion and shouted to Lord Brax. 

Now elevated above his men again, he was visible and with his golden armour marking his identity, he was quickly recognised and his orders relayed by Lord Brax. Even as the archers fired again, his men were spreading out once more, creating a hollow square again to reduce the impact of the arrow storms, shields raised to defend against the shots. Although the archers continued to send shafts at them and occasionally one would slip through a shield and wound or kill a man, for the most part, the Lannister troops remained unscathed. A look from the corner of his eye showed him that Lord Brax was using this time to rebuild his command group, rallying his men to him. To the right flank, Andros was forming pike formations to hold off any attack the Tully cavalry might make.

He signalled to his own archers, and they advanced forward, half sending shaft after shaft at Riverhold’s archers to end the killing fire while the other half continued to harass Vance. This continued for minutes until the Lannister forces reached the edge of Riverhold’s moat, finally allowing Jaime’s archers the range to shoot over the castle’s walls. Vance had pulled back to the west, but that was unimportant for the moment; as soon as the arrow storms stopped; Jaime would pursue and destroy the Lord of Wayfarer’s Rest. Jaime redirected those archers targeting Vance to aid the barrage on Riverhold, and the sheer weight of fire, six times the archers Alyssa had, finally seemed to be doing some good.  

Riverhold suddenly ceased fire and Jaime felt hopeful that his archers had scared them off. Before he could do more than ponder her next move, movement from Riverhold’s walls drew his eye, which widened in shock and realization. Rather than wasting time fruitlessly sending arrows at a shielded formation, the Tully bowmen had instead been buying time for the catapults to be reloaded, and as the second wave of projectiles came hurtling towards his lines, Jaime had time only to curse.

Strangely, the impact wasn’t as devastating as the first time.  One shot smashed near Jaime and for the third time that day he was flung from his horse. He was surprised however, when he landed, to see not a boulder, but chunks of shattered wood and a sticky black liquid. He pondered it for a second, before the scream of one of his men forced him to look up at the walls of Riverhold again, and what he saw made his blood freeze with horror.  

The last few catapults were flinging barrels as well, but these were trailing lengths of burning rope behind them. The soldier in Jaime knew there was only one reason for that. Suddenly he bent and swiftly sniffed the black liquid coating the ground, and a large portion of his men. The smell confirmed his suspicions.

_ Oil _

_ Barrels of oil. _

_ Oil and fire…  _

_ Seven Fucking Hells! _

The burning barrels landed, shattering on impact, and the flames instantly touched the oil-soaked wood and the puddles on the ground. Looking to the command group, where Lord Andros Brax was just now getting to his feet, armour drenched in oil, Jaime spied a falling barrel out of the corner of his eye, fuse hissing. He drew breath to shout to Andros and the older man simply turned his helm towards Jaime He could almost see Lord Andros’ smile of acceptance, even through the visor.  The barrel smashed near the Lord of Hornvale and the Lannister lines exploded into a sea of fire and pain. Men died screaming as flames engulfed them. 

Those not immediately burnt were likely to be ignited by a flaming comrade, running madly to who-knows where or leaping into Riverhold’s moat, armor and all, in an attempt to extinguish the flames and agony. What cavalry Lord Brax had were all but gone now, horses screaming and pain and fear as they ran every which way, throwing their riders and trampling those unable to get out of their way. Jaime himself had been lucky enough to avoid the fire, as had the majority of his men, but his left flank hadn’t been so lucky, one side of his defensive square now on fire and crumbling as his men backed away, those soaked in oil refusing to go anywhere near the flames. 

Cursing again and realizing that if he did nothing he was lost, Jaime gave quick orders, and soon the remaining oil-soaked men retreated to the safety of the centre, while the centre took their place and the rear ranks moved forward, forming a tight square once more. Spreading his troops out to counter the catapults and archers had had a downside; cavalry would find it much easier to smash through a hollow centre. If she charged now, he was done. Glancing over at where Tully sat with her cavalry, Jaime felt almost disappointed that she hadn’t tried to take advantage of his momentary weakness. After all she’d done today, he’d expected more of her. 

As he glanced back at her, he could swear he saw her smirk as she nodded to the Blackfish, who blew a series of short notes on his horn. 

_ A signal! But to who, and for what? _

Screams from his rear gave him his answer. Unengaged until now, Clement Piper’s host had moved south from their position to strike him in the rear, stripped of large amounts of its men to bolster the centre. Jaime clenched his fist as he ordered men back to the rear, stripping the right flank to counter Piper’s attack and still have enough depth in his ranks to hold off a cavalry charge. Pikes and shields rose and the Lord of Pinkmaiden’s push turned into a deadlock, Piper men struggling to break the Lannister shield wall.

Jaime smiled at the sight of something finally going to plan, but before he could bury Piper under his superior numbers, he was reminded why leaving one flank weak like that was a very bad idea. The attack by the archers and catapults, not to mention Piper’s forces, had drawn Jaime’s attention away from Vance’s men, and with a few minutes of respite, Lord Vance had restored his men’s discipline, rallying them even now in a charge from the west on the weakened Lannister right. 

Left with no other option, Jaime gave hurried orders, pulling men from the centre to reinforce the right flank, but this had an obvious cost, and pulling at his hair in frustration, he knew what would happen next before it even did. The flames had mostly died by now, those men on fire already dead, and the screams had died to quiet moans of those in pain. 

“For Tully and Riverrun!”

Steel-shod hooves pounded the dirt as Alyssa Tully herself, red hair showing under her half-helm, led her knights in a charge at his distracted left flank. Jaime’s pike formations, so rigidly formed, had been disrupted by the flames and runaway horses, and the left flank was weak, stripped of most of its men to bolster the right.  His men were demoralised, and faced with a charge of armored horse, their defensive line broke as Riverhold’s archers hit the centre with one last devastating volley. Demoralised by the fire and archers and still reeling from the twin attacks of Piper and Vance, Jaime could only watch as the Tully cavalry charged through the smoke and embers to smash through his exposed eastern flank.

Hundreds screamed as they were spitted on Tully lances or ridden down by warhorses. Now attacked on every flank, and with the river to his south, Jaime opened his mouth to order a retreat, only for the command to die unvoiced.

_ No! _

While the knights had been drawing attention to themselves, Lord Clement Piper had used the time wisely. Sound of his men’s movement covered by the pounding hooves, he moved his men away from the shield wall, taking up position to their north, on the ground once covered by the Tully defences. Now they spread out, pikes set and bows raised. Curiously, half of them turned to face the rear, before Jaime groaned in understanding.

_ Ser Forley. Even if I called in his cavalry, they’d be charging over rough ground at a prepared force. They might win, but it would be bloody. _

Jaime moved to order a retreat but realized in horror that his men had nowhere to go. In front of them was the moat formed from a branch of the Red Fork, blocking their path to Riverhold, and behind was Lord Piper’s men, steely determination in their eyes. All they could do was stand there and try to raise their shields in a futile attempt to stave off the death raining on them. Vance’s men were pushing into his right flank, while Alyssa Tully’s cavalry cut like a knife through the left.

_ Pipers to the north, the river to the south, Tullys to the east and Vances to the west. Gods, this is a disaster. _

Almost unable to believe the situation could grow any worse, Jaime cursed when he saw Ser Forley’s cavalry riding off, unable to flank the enemy due to the pit traps and unwilling to charge Piper’s spears and pikes. Already demoralised from the arrows and the fire, and attacked on three fronts, watching their comrades abandon them was one blow too many for the embattled Lannisters and the foot broke.  

Jaime desperately tried to rally what remained of his men and form a shield wall to surround his men, but he knew in his heart it was useless. Too many were dead, and those that remained were disoriented and disorganised, fighting as individuals now rather than taking commands like soldiers. Even now, he watched in horror and rage as his men fled, drowned in their armor as they were driven into the Red Fork, feathered with arrows as they tried to ford the moat. Hundreds more were speared by determined Pipers, struck down by weary Vances, or just being run down by Tully cavalry, swords flashing into the fleeing men as they rode them down. Thousands of his men were charred to a crisp or lying on the field, not moving. As much as it angered him for a Tully to defeat a Lannister, he could clearly see that this fight was over. 

That didn’t mean, however, that he was going to just yield or die without bringing the wrath of the Lion onto the one who caused this. He could see her ahead, slashing through one of his men, on foot after a lucky bolt had killed her horse under her, long red hair flowing from under her helm. Alyssa Tully.  The woman responsible for the deaths of thousands of his men, and the one who killed his cousin. Throwing down his borrowed shield and gripping Bloodclaw in both hands, the crimson Valyrian steel gleaming like fresh blood, he deflected a spear thrust and cut down a Tully soldier unfortunate enough to be in his way, and the deaths of two Tully axemen by his blade, and a Lannister pikeman by hers, served to remove the last obstacle standing in his way.  Boots slopping in the mud, he moved towards her, sword raised, hopeful that he could still bring victory for House Lannister by defeating her and breaking her men.

Alyssa twisted away from a sword cut, kicked the sword from the wielder’s grip and plunged her sword through the chest of the lion on his doublet. As she freed River’s Edge, the sound of plate armour on mail caused her to look up, and Alyssa nearly fainted when she saw Ser Jaime Lannister himself striding towards her, Valyrian sword in his grasp, his intent obvious. Realizing after what she had wrought today that yielding would be futile, she bit her lip again, giving her now a matching streak of blood down the other side of her chin, raised River’s Edge and moved to meet him. As the two commanders met in the midst of the battlefield, almost by mutual agreement, the fighting moved off a few paces around them. Alyssa brought up her blade to guard, and Jaime swung a lazy blow to test her mettle. 

Alyssa met the crimson Valyrian steel with her off-hand blade and knocked it aside. She’d grown stronger in the years since Pyke, and now wielded a shortsword along with her longer blade instead of a dagger. His next gut-cutter slash was also blocked. Cut and thrust, hack and slash, high and low, every blow he made was deflected, blocked or dodged almost contemptuously, causing most of the men on both sides to stop and stare in awe at this young woman who seemed to be so easily holding off Jaime Lannister.

The old veterans, however, simply shook their heads knowingly and pressed the attack on the younger men foolish enough to stop fighting. Brynden Tully was one of these veterans. More than twenty years of experience across a variety of battlefields meant that he was rarely surprised in war, and he knew Alyssa was in trouble. Smashing the face of a Lannister knight who had neglected or lost his helm to pulp with the pommel of his blade, he began to cut his way towards his niece, as he knew in his heart what would happen when the Lannister stopped playing around.

Alyssa ducked another of Jaime’s blows and lashed out at his neck in response. He moved his blade to guard, but quick as a cat, she flicked her left wrist downward and the tip of her shorter blade instead sliced shallowly into his shoulder, the edge stopped fortunately by his ringmail. Not having been wounded for years, he fought back a wince as a drop of blood welled, and as he saw her grin at her success, he frowned. The lion had played with his food long enough. It was time to feast, and he felt like fish..  

He raised a hand as Alyssa brought her blade up for another strike, and she halted her attack. “You’re not bad, Lady Tully. Any other time, I’m sure this would have been quite enjoyable. Unfortunately, the man you threw that banner into was my cousin. So as much as part of me regrets this.”  His sword came up, and Alyssa felt a cold stone of fear in her belly. “Defend yourself.”

Then he was upon her, his blade and armor gleaming the crimson and gold of his House, his sword a wheel of flashing crimson light that seemed to strike her from all directions. Alyssa jumped, dodged, blocked and parried. She called on all the knowledge of war she had, all the skill Uncle Brynden’s training had given her. And still it was not enough. Even as she blocked, his blade was somewhere else, falling on her guard like one of the boulders she had had fired at his men that day. As her strength flagged, her speed slowed, sweat beaded on her brow and Jaime’s blade began to get through her defence, causing small wounds to almost appear on her like magic. River’s Edge and her shortsword flashed as she desperately deflected attacks, and even with both blades, it was still barely enough to keep her alive. 

Then, it happened. Bloodclaw struck the hilt of her shortsword, and before Alyssa could react, Jaime twisted his wrist and pulled. Alyssa cried out as her wrist was bent to the point where instinctively, she released her grip, sending the weapon flying from her hand. Shaking her sore wrist, Alyssa took a two-handed grasp on River’s Edge with a sinking feeling in her heart. Strength had never been her strong suit. Her success in battle came from deflection, parrying and dodging, without her parrying blade, she wouldn’t be able to match Jaime’s power for long. 

She tried to angle her blade to allow Bloodclaw to slide down River’s Edge rather than meet it, reducing the strain on her arms, but the Kingslayer noticed the trick. Effortlessly, he altered the angle of his attacks, meeting every one of Alyssa’s parries edge to edge, sending a jolt down her arms every time. She realized in horror that she couldn’t keep this up for long and bent to retrieve her shortsword, but he kicked it far out of reach, and struck downwards. Only a desperate dodge kept her head on her shoulders.

Almost at the end of her endurance, after almost a minute of solid attacks her boot slipped and she staggered, recovering in time to hold up River’s Edge to block his next attack. Their blades clashed and she felt the shock through her arm, recoiling as Jaime took a two-handed grip on Bloodclaw and brought the blade down furiously, roaring like the lion on his sigil.  Her breath came in gasps, as with the last of her strength she swung River’s Edge upward and the two swords met with the strength of their wielders behind them, edge to edge in a collision that made the arms of both Lannister and Tully shudder. But instead of the normal clang that swords made when they met, there was instead a sound of tortured metal, followed by something ringing on the ground. 

From the sudden drop in weight in her right hand, Alyssa knew what had happened.  The constant blows and clashes with the Valyrian steel Bloodclaw had finally been too much for her faithful sword, and Jaime Lannister’s last, furious blow had snapped River’s Edge clean in two. Almost against her will, her hand opened and the broken blade fell from her hand, sticking into the dirt next to her.  It was then that her legs gave out and she collapsed onto her knees, unable to do anything but look hatefully at Jaime Lannister as he approached her, crimson Valyrian steel sword in hand wet with her blood. He grinned as he raised Bloodclaw over his head.

“This is for Willem, and Lord Andros”.

The sword came down, and Alyssa against her will shut her eyes. A loud clang indicated that the Stranger would not be taking her at this moment, and upon opening her eyes, she noticed why. Jaime Lannister’s strike had been stopped by another sword, a sword held by Brynden Tully, who was even now straining to keep Jaime’s stroke from her neck, salt and pepper hair shaking with the burden. With an effort, Ser Brynden shoved Jaime back, and moved a few steps forward, putting himself between Alyssa and Jaime. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size, Kingslayer?”

Jaime Lannister smirked. “Why Ser Blackfish, I didn’t know you were still fighting?”

Brynden Tully grinned in return, helm lost somewhere on the field. “I pick up my sword now and then, especially when some young pup needs a lesson.”

Jaime nodded. “The Kingslayer and the Blackfish, this will be a story for the ages.”

Brynden chuckled in his smoky voice. “We should have brought minstrels to record this. Ah well, looks like whoever wins will tell his own story.” He gripped his sword tightly and raised his shield, the weathered ebony trout defying nature’s efforts to make it flake away like most paint. “Whenever you’re ready, Kingslayer.”

The two men moved almost as one. No clumsy hacking or stabbing here. These men were masters of the blade, and their duel resembled a dance more than a fight. They whirled around one another, steel clashing or thudding off wood. Each used the advantages they brought into the duel, Brynden the experience and skill of years of battles, Jaime the speed and strength of youth. Had this duel been taking place five years earlier, both knew that Jaime would have been slain already. But while the Blackfish’s skill and fighting spirit had not dwindled, whether he liked it or not age had taken its toll on his body, sapping his energy and slowing his reflexes. As it was, the two men were almost evenly matched, save one thing. 

The sword in Brynden Tully’s hand had been balanced the way he liked it, and had been with him on countless campaigns.  Castle forged steel honed and crafted in Riverrun, it was a fine sword indeed, and as familiar to him as his right arm, not that he couldn’t fight almost as well with any other blade. But it was not Valyrian steel. The blade spell-forged in Old Valyria was thousands of times more durable and sharp than Brynden’s castle-forged blade, and so every time the two swords clashed it was the Blackfish’s sword that bore the marks, and every time he was forced to block with his shield, deep gouges were left in it. Back and forth they went across the battlefield, through fighting men, though most Lannister men had by now realised the grimness of the situation and thrown down their swords. Strike. Parry. Thrust. Shield block. Counter thrust. Step. Their fight seemed destined to be an eternal stalemate. Until finally, it happened. 

Brynden raised his shield to block a thrust, but Jaime’s sword struck the very centre of a deep crack running across it and the battered oak finally gave up. Jaime’s blade plunged through up to the hilt, luckily missing Brynden.  At this, Alyssa gritted her teeth. Knowing that she couldn’t let her uncle die trying to protect her, she slid her dagger from the sheath at the small of her back and then used a fallen spear to pull herself to her feet, before slowly moving towards the two fighting men, one unsteady step at a time. 

Brynden Tully winced as the blade of Jaime’s sword punched through his shield. Instinct and reflexes honed over years saw him swing his arm away from his body, so the blade missed him, but that came with a price.  With his shield arm now badly out of position and weighed down by the sword sticking out of it, Jaime raised his boot and put his weight onto the sword’s hilt. Brynden Tully was a tough old soldier, and where many men would have roared in pain, he merely grunted as Jaime’s kick dislocated his shield arm with a sickening clunk. Gritting his teeth, Brynden lifted his sword to strike at the now unarmed Lannister, only to have Jaime grab his raised sword arm, and with an expert twist and pressure applied to the right place, wrench the blade from his hand. 

Jaime Lannister, now armed with Brynden Tully’s own sword, lifted the blade over his head for one final blow aimed at Brynden, who was even now fumbling with his right hand, for the dagger hanging at his right hip, though both knew he would be too slow.  Jaime smirked in that annoying way of his, while Brynden just raised his head and looked the younger man in the eyes. So this was it. He’d had a good run, and served House Tully and his brother well. Dying by the Kingslayer’s blade, well, there were worse ends a man could come to.  Brynden’s hand found the hilt of the dagger and began to slide it from its sheath. Jaime brought the sword down. There was a splash of blood and a thud as a body hit the dirt.

Alyssa dragged herself over to the battle, one slow step after the other. She was ten paces away when Jaime’s sword plunged through Brynden’s shield. Eight paces away when her uncle’s arm was kicked from its socket. Five paces away when Brynden was disarmed. Four. Three. Jaime took the sword in both hands. Two. Brynden looked him in the eye and smiled. One. Alyssa gripped her dagger tightly and just as Jaime raised her uncle’s sword, Alyssa brought the weapon over her head, and with every last ounce of strength her body could muster, she smashed the hilt of the dagger into the back of Jaime’s head. Jaime Lannister collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut, blood welling from a massive gash on the back of his head.

As for Alyssa, utterly exhausted by her desperate final effort, her body gave out and she bonelessly collapsed into the mud, landing next to Jaime, to the dismay of her uncle. As the world began to spin and then collapse inwardly on itself, the last image Alyssa saw before succumbing to exhaustion and blood loss was that of Lannister men surrendering to Tully soldiers. The fall of the Kingslayer had tipped the balance and extinguished the last sparks of defiance the vastly outnumbered Lannister foot had left. Most of Jaime’s cavalry was either captured or dead, what few remained were running back West. Hours after the Lannister host had arrived at Riverhold, more than two thirds of Jaime’s army was dead or captured, and the only threat to the Riverlands left now, aside from the men who fled back to the Westerlands, was Lord Tywin’s host of twenty thousand men south of the Red Fork.

_ They won’t get far, Edmure will deal with them. It looks like we’ve won. Thank the Seven. I just hope the maester isn’t as grim as last time.  _ With that last thought, the world swirled into a spiral of colour that then opened into a black pit that seemed to swallow her, and lying on a muddy battlefield full of Lannister dead, Alyssa passed out.


	17. The Trout and the Lion

“They have my son” Tywin Lannister said.

The messenger nodded, the purple unicorn of Brax visible under the blood covering his tabard. “They do, my lord”. 

The great hall of Stone Hedge went quiet as the assembled lords of the Westerlands absorbed this information.  The fire crackled merrily away, a stark contrast to the mood in the hall. Disgustedly, Tywin watched as his craven goodbrother, Ser Harys Swyft, put his hand to his mouth in shock and fear. “How can this have happened? How?”

For a moment, the hall was silent. Tywin looked at the messenger impatiently, but the man seemed frozen, terrified of telling the most powerful man in Westeros of how his son was defeated so easily. Irritated, though his face betrayed no sign, Tywin glanced at Ser Gregor. Understanding what his lord wanted, the Mountain moved to rise from his chair, his face set as if hewn from stone, but Kevan stood first. Armed with not a blade but a smile, Kevan reminded Tywin of both why he kept his brother around and why Ser Gregor was best used sparingly. “Have no fear, man, as long as you speak the truth then no harm will come to you.”

Kind words and reassurances did what steel and pain would not, brought light back to the man and gave him the confidence to speak. Looking into the eyes of the assembled lords, he took a deep breath and began to recount the tale of the battle. As he continued to describe the events, the assembled lords groaned, cursed or sighed at the reports, while only Tywin remained emotionless.

“With Ser Jaime’s capture, the day was lost” he concluded. “All the remaining cavalry, just over two thousand and three hundred, rode hard for the Tooth, but since I’m the best rider” this was said with obvious pride. “Ser Forley told me you were marching along the other side of the Red Fork from Pinkmaiden, and ordered me to ride hard and fast to find you, kill my horse if I had to so you could know what happened, which I damn near did.”

Tywin nodded. “Thank you for your loyalty.” He beckoned to a servant. “Get this man as much food and drink as he wants, and have his horse seen to as well as you would my own”.

_ ‘A Lannister always pays his debts’. _

As the messenger bowed gratefully and turned to leave, Tywin called him back. “How many men did the Tullys lose?’

The messenger seemed to think for a moment; “They routed us completely, my lord, but our archers took a brutal toll on their left flank before that.  We killed mayhaps a thousand of theirs, and sorely wounded hundreds more.”

The lords around him gasped, but Tywin was busy working out numbers in his head.

_ Seven thousand left, or near enough to it. We lost men crushing Tully’s border patrols, and then thousands more subduing Stone Hedge; all told, perhaps two thousand at most. We have her more than two to one. _

The messenger left, and Harys Swyft moaned again; “This is a disaster!” 

Yet again, Kevan proved his worth, displaying Tywin’s irritation for him so the Great Lion’s legendary composure remained untouched. “Yes, thank you Ser Harys, the question is, what are we going to do about it?”

 

The burning tree of Ashemark rose into view as Ser Addam Marbrand shoved back his chair and rose to his feet. “What else would we do? My lords, we must march on Riverhold at once and free Ser Jaime”.

Silent until now, Lord Leo Lefford of the Golden Tooth spoke up from by the fire. “And as soon as she sees our banners on the horizon, the Tully girl will have Ser Jaime on the ramparts, a noose around his neck. Now, if we were to ransom him before we attacked…”

He trailed off expectantly, and Ser Addam snorted. “If Alyssa Tully needs gold, she can melt down Jaime’s armor and pay her soldiers for a year.”

Not giving up on the idea, Lord Lefford pressed on relentlessly; “Then if we cannot ransom Ser Jaime, then we must trade for him. I am told Lord Eddard sits in the black cells, and has not yet been tried or charged. If he were to be released, and the story put that he was found innocent, then we may be able to trade him for Ser Jaime, and his daughters for the Tullys other prisoners...”

He stopped there, because Kevan was giving both men a stony glare.  “The Tullys won’t trade Jaime for Lord Eddard, because they’d be fools to let him go to march on them again. Lord Eddard isn’t worth enough to the Tullys. If we had Lord Hoster or Ser Edmure, they might be willing, but as it is only a fool would make that trade and for her to have captured Jaime, the Tully woman is no fool. And Ser Addam, we cannot march on Riverhold. The castle walls are thick stone, and Alyssa Tully has diverted the Red Fork itself for her moat. If that was the only problem then aye, we could smash her gates down and free Jaime. But its location makes it doubly hard to assault. 

Riverhold is only a few days march from Riverrun itself, where Edmure Tully is massing his own host. If we march on Riverhold, Alyssa Tully will pull back her strength inside her walls, close her gates and send a raven to her brother. Ser Edmure will march his host down the River Road and mayhaps a week after we have set up our siege, Edmure Tully will arrive to smash us against Riverhold’s walls as if a hammer against an anvil, not to mention his sister will sally out as soon as her brother attacks.”

Ser Addam was implacable; “Then why bother with a siege? Storm the castle and take it before her brother arrives.”

Kevan’s expression remained stony, although Tywin could spot signs of his brother’s growing annoyance, signs only a brother’s knowing eye would see. “It may have escaped your notice, Ser Addam, but we have no rams, no trebuchets or towers. By the time we could build them, Ser Edmure would have smashed us in the rear, and attacking without them would require us to scale the walls with ropes and ladders; a bloody business costing thousands of our men at best.”

“Then why did Ser Jaime even bother with it? Why not press on to Riverrun with all haste?” Ser Addam would not let go of his plan, as if a dog grasping a particularly juicy bone.

The signs of Kevan’s growing annoyance disappeared and turned to noticeable frustration as Tywin watched the last of his brother’s patience visibly snap. “Because he had no choice, Ser Addam. If he left Riverhold untaken, then when he attacked Riverrun, it is certain that she would fall upon his rear. That is why Riverhold was built where it was, the position of the two castles form a neat trap. Do you think yourself smarter than Jaime, Ser Addam? Why do you think Jaime chose open battle when the Tully girl offered it? He would have known something was wrong, but he knew the situation as well as I do, and took the only option available; destroying her host on the field, and then leaving men to lay siege to Riverhold. Unfortunately for him, the Tully woman knew it as well, and set her trap accordingly. And now we are presented with a similar situation, and Ser Harys’ question remains valid. What are we to do now?”

Ser Harys’ had apparently gained fresh courage during his silence, because he spoke again; “Perhaps our friends at court could be prevailed upon to join us with fresh troops. And mayhaps someone might return to Casterly Rock to raise a new host.”

“They have my son.” The voice cut through the squabbling, and the hall fell silent as Lord Tywin broke his silence at last. “Alyssa Tully thinks she has me caught in a cleft stick, unable to attack Riverhold or Riverrun while her brother musters his full power, until he has enough men to crush us.  I will not play her game, I will strike first and I will strike hard. Ser Gregor, gather the men. We march at first light.” The Mountain bowed, and strode out into the night, already bellowing orders, but Tywin had continued on, ignoring the Mountain’s departure; “Ser Harys, fresh hosts will take weeks if not months to muster, but the idea is valid. Summon the maester.” The fleshy man rose and gladly left the room, searching for Stone Hedge’s maester. 

“Ser Addam, I know Jaime is your friend, but foolishness and arrogance got him captured, they will not free him. We must be cunning, more cunning than Alyssa Tully and we must not make Jaime’s mistake of underestimating her. If she defeated Jaime, she is not merely playing at war. She expects us to attack Riverhold to free Jaime. So we shall do the opposite. We march at first light, to smash Edmure Tully’s host or lay siege to Riverrun.”

Tywin would have continued, before Lord Lefford interrupted urgently.

“My lord, is that wise? Edmure Tully is mustering his forces at Riverrun, and we took heavy losses taking this castle. Do we have the strength to defeat him?”

Tywin clenched his fist at the reminder that this campaign had gone wrong almost from the start. It had begun well enough; moving north off the Gold Road, the Lannister host had effortlessly smashed through the few puny bands Edmure Tully had left to guard against Ser Gregor’s raiders and continued north into the lands of House Piper. That was where things began to unravel. To their shock and surprise, Lord Piper’s lands were deserted; villages empty and holdfasts unmanned, while the fields had either been scoured bare or put to the torch.

He had naturally assumed that Lord Clement had heard of their coming and taken his people inside his walls, and they continued on to Pinkmaiden. However, when they reached the castle, they found House Piper’s seat silent, walls bare of men and the gates open. Daringly, one man walked inside, shield raised in case of ambush; an act for which Tywin meant to have him knighted; Lannisters paid their debts after all, and reported that the castle was empty. A quick examination revealed that the stores, armoury and vaults were empty, and Lord Piper’s family was nowhere to be found.

Unsure as to what was happening, Tywin decided against wasting supplies or men to hold the abandoned castle in favour of pressing on. From Pinkmaiden, they moved north, ignoring House Lychester’s tiny keep with its insignificant number of defenders, before following the Red Fork east to Stone Hedge. Tywin had been sure that the overwhelming sight of his host would be enough to cow House Bracken’s remaining armsmen into surrender, but Lord Bracken’s castellan was either foolishly brave or merely foolish, and refused. With Edmure Tully mustering an army not days away, Tywin lacked the time for a siege, and was forced to send his men forward to storm the walls with ladders and hooks, his archers providing covering fire with storms of arrows.

It was not a move he would have made had he any other choice; Stone Hedge was a strong castle, and he knew it would be a bloodbath. The greater part of the Bracken strength had gone to Riverrun along with its lord, leaving only a hundred and twenty men to hold the castle. Those men fought better than any in their position should be expected to, slaying over twenty men each, but the outcome was never in doubt. By dusk Stone Hedge was in Lannister hands, the red stallion of House Bracken thrown down and replaced with the golden lion of Lannister. The cost, however, was dear indeed. Over two thousand men had been killed or wounded before the castle fell, the few remaining defenders put to the sword for their defiance in a rare showing of Tywin’s rage. Worse, the maester had managed to get off a raven in the chaos, so Edmure Tully would soon know what had happened and where the Lannister army was.

Truth be told, Lord Lefford had good reason to question. Stone Hedge was the Lannisters temporary base for this campaign, and Tywin could ill afford to let it be retaken. After leaving as strong a garrison as would be needed to hold the castle, Tywin would only be able to march with sixteen thousand.  It was a real possibility that they would be outnumbered, but unfortunately, they had no other option.

“And what would you prefer, Lord Lefford? That we sit here and wait while Edmure Tully gathers his strength? For his sister to join him before he marches on us? We lack the supplies here to sustain our host in case of a siege, and if Edmure Tully combines his strength with hers, they will certainly outnumber us.” Tywin shook his head in disgust and frustration at how this war had turned out. “Our best chance is to strike now, smash that army he is mustering before he can gather his full power.” 

“March on Riverrun?” Lord Lewys Lydden sounded as if he could scarcely believe his ears. “My lord, the Tullys have the high riverbank, and a view for leagues around, by the time we reach the Red Fork, Edmure Tully’s host will be deployed on the other bank, waiting for us to attack. With his numbers and position, if we press the attack over the river, he’ll destroy us.”

Tywin frowned, having forgotten that. Leaning closer to the map Lord Bracken’s maester had found him, he stared at it intently. Before he could think of anything, Ser Harys voiced his own opinion. “It’s impossible, my lord”. 

Kevan fixed him with a glare so fierce it should have killed him, before examining the map himself for a moment and clarifying his goodbrother’s statement. “It’s not good, my lord. If we cross the Red Fork at Riverrun, Tully will see us coming, and be ready for us. If we try to cross more than a day south of Riverrun, then his sister’s scouts will see us coming, and she’ll warn her brother, who’ll come to meet us.”

For a moment, no-one moved as the Great Lion of the Rock sat there, bent over his map, motionless as the stone his seat was carved from as he studied the area and confirmed routes in his mind. At last, he nodded to himself, and rose, before pointing at the map. “We march at dawn.” 

He left his tent, and one by one, looking between each other and the painted castle his finger had hovered above, the truth dawned upon the lords of the Westerlands and smiles spread across their faces.

 

“We must march on them at once!” A fist pounded on the table, as Jonos Bracken gave vent to his rage at the news that his castle had fallen. Tytos Blackwood rolled his eyes while the other lords present appeared more sympathetic. At the head of the table, Ser Edmure Tully sat in place of his ailing father, a cup of wine in hand as he joked with Ser Robert Paege. Next to him in place of honour, Lord Jason Mallister sighed, hand running through his beard as he heard the news. 

“We lack the strength to meet Lord Tywin in battle, Lord Bracken.” Edmure looked down guiltily at that, for that was his fault. When he had first heard of the Mountain’s raids, Lord Hoster had been in command, and had forbidden House Tully’s forces from going to war with the Lannisters. By the time Hoster had sickened and command had fallen to Edmure, the Lannisters were on the march and the Mountain had burned several villages and towns. 

Determined that no more innocent folk of the Riverlands would die on his watch, Edmure had sent two hundred men to every village and holdfast within a day’s ride of the border, mixed groups of archers, cavalry and foot more than enough to deal with the raiders. Unfortunately, he hadn’t counted on just how populous the Riverlands was. There were roughly fifty villages he had to send men to, reducing his host by ten thousand men. 

Every House present at Riverrun had sent half their forces, and House Tully had led by example by sending two thirds. The exception was House Mallister, Lord Jason having arrived after the border patrols were organized, leaving the three thousand men of Seagard by far the largest force now outside the Tully castle.

Piper and both branches of House Vance had given their strength to Alyssa, and though it had gone to a worthy cause, Edmure and the assembled lords having cheered and drunk many a toast in her name the night they heard the news, that still left took nine thousand more men away from the host he was mustering at Riverrun. 

Twenty-six thousand was the maximum he could have raised now, but thanks to the fractious nature of the Riverlands, and the fickle loyalty of some of his father’s bannermen, he had nowhere near that. House Frey, Riverrun’s most powerful vassal, had failed to answer the call, as had their neighbour, the weaker House Vypren. Nor was disloyalty limited to the lords of the Green Fork. Lymond Lychester, as expected, had failed to stir from his stupor, while not a single soldier had been sent from Lord Harroway’s Town or Maidenpool. 

Were those Houses to muster their full force, they could field nearly a combined nine thousand men; and yet not one man wearing the Frey towers had been seen, the Lychester talon absent from the muster, as was the two-headed horse of Roote and the salmon of Maidenpool. Staring out the window at the forces assembled on the bank of the Red Fork, Edmure Tully swore to himself that their disloyalty and treason would not stand this time. 

Not right now however, he lacked the strength to punish Riverrun’s rebellious bannermen at this time, in fact he lacked the strength to face anyone. At this moment, just over twelve thousand men were assembled at Riverrun, proof that not all the lords of the Trident had forgotten their loyalties. Mallister and Blackwood, Bracken and Whent, most of House Tully’s strongest vassals had answered Edmure’s call with near their full power. Hawick and Ryger, Goodbrook and Darry and Paege, Houses great and small forgot old feuds with Riverrun to unite against the Lannister threat.

Unfortunately, that would not be enough. Alyssa had said in her letter that the Blackfish reported an army of twenty thousand marching with Lord Tywin, leaving the Tully forces badly outnumbered. Numbers were not the only thing that won battles, however, and so Edmure stayed here, content with his strong defensive position as he waited for more allies to arrive. The thought made him smile, and he turned to Lord Bracken.

“Lord Tytos is right, Lord Jonos, and I understand your pain. But it won’t hurt much longer. Soon, my sister’s army will have recovered from the battle, and I’ll order her to join her strength to ours. With the combined power gathered at Riverrun and Riverhold, we’ll have the strength to cross the Red Fork and take the battle to Lord Tywin.” Lord Jonos tried to smile at that, but it was clear the broad-shouldered man’s heart just wasn’t in it. “Until then, all we can do is wait, and hope Lord Tywin makes a mistake”.

“That man doesn’t make mistakes” Jonos said morosely.

“We’ll see” was Edmure’s confident reply.

Before Bracken could answer, a man dressed in the green and white livery of House Ryger ran in holding a scroll out. “A message from the field, my lord.”

Though irritated at the interruption, Edmure took the scroll, slitting it open and spreading the parchment flat on the table as he read the contents. Almost instantly, his eyebrows rose, but he controlled his reaction enough to thank the Ryger armsman and send him away. As soon as the Hall’s doors closed, he swore loudly. The lords of the Trident looked on in concern as Edmure clenched his fist. 

“Ill news, my lords. The Old Lion has stirred at last.”

“He’s left Stone Hedge?” Lord Bracken’s voice was equal parts hope and wariness as he pondered why Tywin would abandon such a defensible location. “I suppose Harroway or Darry are next on his list, then?”

“No.” The solemnity in Edmure’s voice caused Lord Jonos’ head to jerk upright, as he began to realize that Lord Tywin clearly had some sort of plan. “No, my lord, he’s marched north, towards the Red Fork.”

“North?” Though they had no map in front of them, that part of the Riverlands had only two Houses of note, and the Lords of both were present at this moment, both paling as they realised their seats and lands were now in jeopardy. Lord Jason Mallister was the first to recover.

“Let us calmly think this through, my lords. He cannot cross the Green Fork from where he is, so whatever his plan is, it must involve remaining west of it. On that side of the river, there are only three targets of note that would warrant his entire host crossing the Red Fork.”

“Raventree Hall, Fairmarket and Seagard.” Lord Jonos was beginning to follow Jason’s line of thinking. “It won’t be Seagard, too far and he’d move too slowly bringing siege engines with him. Not to mention he’d never take it without them.”

“Of course not” Lord Jason’s tone left no room for argument. “Most of the town overlooks Ironman’s Bay from sheer cliffs, and the gates are high and strong. The parts of wall that are on land are well defended, I left near two hundred of my best men behind.” His smile became cold and cruel for a moment. “I wish he would try it, but Lord Tywin’s not that much of a fool. It won’t be Seagard.”

“That leaves Raventree Hall, and Fairmarket.” Lord Tytos Blackwood’s voice was quiet, but regretful, and with good cause; both potential targets were in his holdings. “My seat may not be in as good a position as Jason’s, but it isn’t weak either. Raventree’s moat is deep and the walls thick. My garrison is a hundred and twenty strong, if Tywin tries to take my seat by storm the price he pays will be dear indeed.”

Lord Jason was shaking his head almost before Lord Tytos had finished speaking. “He knows that, the Old Lion is no fool. It’s not Raventree either. It’ll be Fairmarket. It’s a large town, with no rivers or moats to defend it, and most of its fighting men will have marched here at your command, Tytos.”

Blackwood’s lips tightened at the thought of his town falling to Lannister hands. “Then we must stop him, my lords, and quickly.”

Eyes rolled around the table, but their owners were shocked to hear support for Tytos’ plan come from an unexpected quarter. “I agree.”

Face flushed with rage, Lord Jonos turned on the speaker. “What the hell are you talking about, Jason? You were happy to let those bastards take my seat, now Blackwood’s town is threatened, and you want to charge out to save it?” He slammed a fist on the table in anger. “Has Seagard finally chosen to side with Raventree?”

In the face of Lord Jonos’ anger, Jason Mallister calmly regarded the raging Lord, as an eagle might survey its prey from on high before striking. “Seagard is neutral in this feud of yours, Jonos, as we always have been and always will be. The two situations are completely different. Stone Hedge is a castle. A strong castle, true, and the seat of your House, which as you pointed out, makes it of crucial importance to House Bracken. And I suppose, the defence of the Riverlands as a whole, but ultimately, only House Bracken.

Fairmarket on the other hand” he continued, cutting off Bracken’s retort as the Lord of Stone Hedge grew redder, “is one of the largest towns in the Riverlands. If Lord Tywin captures that, he has access to supplies and people to replenish his ranks, if he doesn’t mind taking women and children at swordpoint. Not to mention the damage to our reputation in the eyes of the people. Smallfolk make up our armies, and if they don’t believe we can protect them and their families, they won’t come when we call.”

Edmure nodded solemnly. “I’m sorry for your loss, Lord Jonos, but Lord Jason is right. We cannot afford to let Fairmarket fall.”

“But can we save it?” Lord Blackwood bluntly asked. “Lord Tywin badly outnumbers us, even were we to come to battle with him before he reached Fairmarket, what good would that do? He’d destroy us in the field and take the town anyway.”

Eyes as sharp and focused as his sigil, Lord Jason stared at the message thoughtfully. “How strong are the defences of Fairmarket, Tytos?”

“As you’d expect from any town its size” Blackwood answered, unsure where Mallister was going with this. “The walls are decent enough, but it’s no fortress, a good ram will get through them in a few minutes. A few guard towers for archers, but no catapults or scorpions. The defences are for discouraging petty bandits, not throwing back armed hosts.”

“Just as I expected then” the Lord of Seagard replied, before turning to Edmure with a smile. “I think, Ser Edmure, that Lord Tywin has made that mistake we were hoping for.”

“What mistake?” Edmure could not hide his curiosity, as he leaned over the table now. “It seems that he’s made a clever move, attacking Fairmarket while our host remains on this side of the river. Even if we were to march against him, we’d never reach Fairmarket in time; we’d have to cross the Red Fork, head east to clear the hills north of Riverrun and then cross the Red Fork again to follow him. He’d have weeks of start.”

“Mayhaps not”. Lord Jason calmly replied, before signalling for a servant to bring a map. Glancing at Edmure for permission first, the girl waited for him to nod his consent before she obeyed Lord Mallister’s command, returning shortly with a rather basic map of Riverrun and the surrounding area. It wasn’t as detailed as the one in Hoster’s solar, but it served Jason’s purposes.

Leaning over it, he quickly glanced at Stone Hedge, before gazing north, to the painted mark that represented Fairmarket. “Lord Tywin will cross the Red Fork and march north until he reaches Fairmarket.” His eyes then moved to Riverrun, which he tapped. “We can still beat him there, if we take a less pleasant route.” As he spoke, his finger traced out the proposed path on the map, allowing the lords present to follow his plan with their eyes as well as their minds.

“We can ford the Tumblestone a few days south of Riverrun, move along the west bank of the Red Fork, through the foothills, before striking north-east for Fairmarket. Tywin’s army’s just fought a major battle at Stone Hedge, he needs to move slower than usual to let his wounded keep up. If we push our men just a little faster than usual, then we can reach Fairmarket nearly a week ahead of him.”

“Then what?” Lord Jonos was still furious at the loss of Stone Hedge, and was visibly struggling to retain his control at the thought of abandoning his seat to save a Blackwood holding. “So we reach the town ahead of Lord Tywin, then he smashes us against the walls. He still outnumbers us, remember.”

Jason gave that cruel smile again, and Jonos tried not to flinch. “Lady Alyssa was outnumbered by the Kingslayer, two to one if you remember correctly, and she still crushed him. Why? Because she lured him close to the walls of her castle, where she had support from her archers and its defences.

We can do the same at Fairmarket. If we reach the town before Lord Tywin, we can put up defences, though admittedly, with only a week or so, they won’t be a castle but we make a strong stand and station our best archers on the walls. If Lord Tywin gives us battle at Fairmarket, our position and preparations should overcome his advantage in numbers.”

“We’ll smash the father the way Alyssa smashed the son” Edmure cried, clearly showing his excitement. “By the Seven, we have him! Thank you, Lord Jason. Prepare your men, my lords, we march at dawn.”

 

Early the next morning, the Tully host left Riverrun. Edmure pushed the pace hard, knowing that if Lord Tywin reached Fairmarket first or caught up to them in the field, they were finished. Unfortunately, it was rough going, parts of the column forced to march along the slope at the beginning of the hills, and many men went to bed exhausted, cursing Ser Edmure as they fell asleep. 

It was nearly two weeks into the march, even Edmure feeling the fatigue of the journey beginning to sink in, before the first sign of their suffering having worth appeared. A Lannister scout, clad in the orange and grey of House Marbrand of Ashemark, rode off east quickly at the sight of them, and many smiled at the sight, knowing that Tywin wouldn’t bother with scouts too far from his army. They’d closed the gap, and once they cleared the hills in a few more days, they’d be able to make far better time and easily beat him to Fairmarket.

 

Tywin Lannister never smiled. This was something every man in the West knew, looking to Lord Tywin for approval of something meant looking for nods, or twitches of the lips. If you waited for a smile to indicate you were doing the right thing, you would wait forever. So for the Lord of Casterly Rock, the Great Lion, to not only smile at the news brought to him by the outriders, but to let loose a quiet chuckle, was something that simultaneously surprised and terrified every man present for the war council. At length, their lord regained control of himself, his smile disappearing as if it were never there, to be replaced by his customary mask of stone.

“So Ser Edmure has taken the bait, has he? Fool.” Leaving three hundred men to hold Stone Hedge and marching north towards the Red Fork, the Lannister host had crossed the river and moved towards Fairmarket expecting to draw Edmure Tully out from Riverrun and meet the massed power of the Tullys in battle, a host twenty thousand or more. What the scouts reported instead, was a motley grouping of Tully bannermen, eleven or twelve thousand he estimated, not even a quarter of the full strength of the Riverlands. 

Their banners told a story as well, the most prominent not the silver trout of Tully but the silver eagle of Mallister. The red stallion of Bracken was present as well, the very reason Stone Hedge had fallen so easily, along with the tree and ravens of Blackwood and the black bat of House Whent of Harrenhal.

_ Good, once we crush this pathetic army, Harrenhal will fall easily with so many of its forces absent. _

Handfuls of men from many other Houses were present, but the majority came from Riverrun, Raventree Hall and Stone Hedge, the numbers of men wearing each of those liveries slightly more than those from Harrenhal, but dwarfed by the massive numbers clad in the silver and purple of Seagard. Tywin turned to his brother, horse keeping pace easily to Tywin’s right. “What do you think about this, Kevan?”

Tywin watched silently for a few moments as his brother squinted at the report, hand on his chin as he contemplated the situation. “Fewer men than expected, and less from House Tully itself than one would think. And yet, huge numbers from House Mallister, I’d say around a fourth of that entire host is Mallister men. Given that those patrols we destroyed contained large groups of Tullys, I would say that Edmure Tully called what swords he could get as soon as Lady Stark took Tyrion, but scattered them to guard his borders against Ser Gregor’s raiding. Jason Mallister must have arrived after they were dispatched and swelled Tully’s numbers with Seagard’s men. I do notice though, that the twin towers of Frey are nowhere to be seen.”

Tywin nodded briefly, satisfied with his brother’s analysis of the situation. “That is my conclusion as well, Kevan. As for Walder Frey, have no fear there. The Late Lord Frey is simply living up to his name, and refraining from committing himself until he is sure of the winning side.”

Tywin shook his head in wonder, a smile threatening to reappear once more. “I had hoped to draw Edmure Tully out, and fight him on ground of our choosing to overcome his numbers, but this… even I could not have expected this. Very well. Then let us close the net, and catch our fish.” He gave orders, quickly taking into account this new information, and his generals smiled as they realized his plan.

 

With the Tully host only two days from leaving the hills, Edmure had called for a rest day, allowing his men to regain their strength before their final push onto clear ground. It was around noon, after the midday meal, and many of his men were dozing in the sunlight. Edmure himself was just finishing his own late meal, when one of his outriders came galloping into the middle of their camp, hooves pounding as he drove his horse to the limits, narrowly missing several men, who cursed as he nearly trampled them. 

He skidded to a stop in front of Edmure’s tent, and the beast sank to the ground, panting heavily, as the rider swung out of his saddle and hurried towards Edmure. His guards shook off their stupor and raised their spears to block his path, only for a word from Edmure to see them stand down. Whatever news this man had, it must be critically important to race into the midst of camp like this. The outrider drew a breath, before bowing before Edmure.

“Ser Edmure, grave news! The Lannister army has reversed its course. They’re less than two days away now, Lord Bracken reckons, and they’re coming this way.”

Edmure felt his blood freeze as he realized what his haste had done. The hills and river, now seemed nothing more than the jaws of a trap, closing around them as the Lannister army advanced. Pinned between both, the Tullys were already at a severe disadvantage without being outnumbered and exhausted, if Tywin attacked now it would be a slaughter.  Cursing under his breath Edmure made the only move he could, deciding to retreat back to Riverrun. 

It took longer than he was comfortable with to rouse his men, but eventually the Tully host was moving again, fording the Red Fork and moving back down the River Road towards Riverrun. As they passed Stone Hedge, Lord Jonos clenched his fist at the sight of lion banner flying over his home, but there was nothing for it but to keep moving. Edmure pushed the pace as much as he dared, the outriders having informed him that Tywin had followed them over the river and was closing fast, now less than a day away.

At the cost of much exertion, they at last reached Riverrun, Lord Tywin less than a few hours behind. Unfortunately, between the exhausted Tully host and the castle that now represented salvation was the Red Fork, a hundred feet wide of red and brown water that Edmure knew they’d never cross in time. If they got across they could set up defences on the higher riverbank and beat off attacks even when outnumbered two or three to one, but it mattered not. Even if half his host made it across, Tywin would destroy the other half as they waded across the river.

In desperation, he called for a war council in his tent. The Lords Bracken, Blackwood and Mallister answered promptly, all aware of the situation they found themselves in. As always, it was Jason Mallister who stated the solution, obvious as it was, that no one wanted to admit.

“A sacrifice, Ser Edmure. Our entire host cannot reach Riverrun in time, some men must be left behind to delay Lord Tywin and buy time for the rest of us.”

“Me.” Heads jerked in disbelief to stare at Edmure, whose face showed nothing but determination. “This mess is my fault, I was in command. It is my responsibility to make this right.”

 

“Don’t be a fool”. Edmure glanced at Lord Jonos, whose face was set. “Lord Tywin would like nothing better than to take you, with you in hand, he has a hostage that he can trade for the Kingslayer or use as a tool to force Riverrun to yield” . Bracken’s tone would brook no argument and as the others looked over at him, his head sank. “ I will lead the rear, Stone Hedge is lost already, I have nothing left to fight for. My men and I will hold those Lannister bastards off so you can escape.”

To Bracken’s surprise, Tytos Blackwood was shaking his head, a sad smile on his lips. “I understand the sentiment, Bracken, but it can’t be you.”

“And why not?” Jonos challenged, fist raised. “House Bracken are no cowards, and we fight just as well as any of you.”

If anything, this seemed to sadden Tytos more. “I do not doubt your courage, but your fitness. Any men we leave behind will be outnumbered by Tywin at least three or four times over, to have any chance of holding him long enough, they will have to be our best men. You are a horseman, Jonos, your House prides itself on their cavalry. But you know little of commanding archers or pike formations, you focus on attack rather than defence.”

His shoulders rose in resolve, as he hardened himself for what he knew he must do. “House Blackwood, on the other hand, prides itself on our  _ archers _ , I learned how to direct arrow storms at my father’s knee. A respected noble must be left behind to command the defence, or the men won’t hold, and I’m the best suited for that. I am the logical choice to command the rearguard, and you know that.”

Bracken’s fist unclenched, before he let a sigh of defeat escape his lips. At last, he nodded slightly. “Aye, you’re right. I won’t forget this,  _ Tytos _ .”

Blackwood’s response was a sad smile. “It is for the Riverlands that I do this, for my children and my grandchildren.” Without another word, he waited only for Edmure’s reluctant nod, before exiting the tent and proceeding to muster the rearguard, leaving Edmure, Jonos and Jason to scramble to organize the retreat, lest Blackwood’s valiant sacrifice be for nothing.

 

Before Tywin’s eyes, the Tully host formed up on the bank, mayhaps three thousand archers, pikes and spears ready to repel any attack, while their cavalry were trotting horses over the Red Fork, Jonos Bracken leading them, his red stallion flying dejectedly over the retreating horse. In an instant, the Lord of Casterly Rock knew what was happening. Even as he watched, the ravens of Blackwood rose defiantly over the archers, Lord Tytos himself, visible by his feathered cloak, notching his great weirwood bow.

_ Brave men.  _

He turned to Ser Addam, eagerly waiting at the head of over four thousand knights. “Begin.” 

Eagerly, Ser Addam sounded the charge and soon the armoured fist of the Lannister horse was headed straight for Blackwood’s determined rearguard. As Bracken’s cavalry splashed across the river, Blackwood shouted a command and over a thousand bows twanged, sending a storm of deadly shafts at Ser Addam’s knights.

Some bounced off plate or were deflected by shields, but many found homes either in horses or slipped through gaps in visors and armour joints to strike flesh. Men and horses alike screamed in pain and hundreds of knights fell from their saddles, but the vast majority were unharmed and the charge continued. The archers notched arrows, preparing another volley, and Tywin glanced over the Red Fork to see the last of the Bracken cavalry walk their horses into the river, the leaping trout of Riverrun flying at the rear. 

Behind the rearguard, Lord Jason Mallister commanded the centre of the retreating men, surrounded by all the strength of Seagard, mounted, archers and foot, to stiffen the levies in place of the pikes and archers taken to defend their escape. What remained was lightly armoured armsmen, in mail and half-helms. Without the armoured men-at-arms to give them courage or the support of the archers, they would not last long against the superior Lannister numbers, and he knew it. 

The sound of clashing swords drew his attention to the rearguard, where he could see the Lannister knights had finally reached the defenders, even now clashing with the armoured men left to protect Blackwood’s archers, but they were badly outnumbered, and couldn’t hold much longer. The bowmen of Raventree, the elite archers of the Riverlands, were still sending arrows, targeting the rear of the knights where there was little risk of hitting their own men, but once the line of pikes broke, Blackwood’s lightly armoured archers wouldn’t stand a chance against the pride of the West.

Lord Jason was now forced to make a decision, and it wasn’t one that he liked. The presence of his men was the only thing keeping the terrified Tully levies from breaking, but once the rearguard fell, he was certain that even that wouldn’t be enough. This day was lost, all he could do now was save whoever he could. Standing up in his saddle, he ordered a general retreat across the river, calling for his men to follow as he and his banner bearer began their crossing.

Though a few hundred men followed him, most did what he had known and feared would happen, and threw down their weapons as soon as the men of Seagard began to fall back, thousands of Tully soldiers screaming in fear and running every which way. Though that might have also had something to do with the Lannister knights, their number reduced by nearly a quarter, finally breaking the defensive line in front of the archers and proceeding to butcher the now vulnerable bowmen.

Even as Jason watched, Lord Tytos fired one last shaft from his great weirwood bow, the shaft travelling through the slit in a visor to pierce a Marbrand knight’s eye, the man falling silently from his saddle, before the Lord of Raventree Hall cast down his bow regretfully and drew his sword, determined not to be taken easily. Furious at the loss of their comrades, the Lannister knights closed around the remnants of the rearguard like a steel fist, while Jason could only watch as he finally gained the other bank. Surveying the remnants of their forces, he was disappointed by what they’d managed to save.

They had Bracken’s cavalry, just over two thousand men, as well as the full strength of Seagard, another three thousand, but that was all. Everyone else had either fought and died in the rearguard with Blackwood or broken and run in fear. They had five thousand left, enough to hold the riverbank, just, but yet they couldn’t, for one important reason. Over half their force was cavalry.

To beat Tywin back if he tried to cross, true they’d need knights to shatter what small groups of men made it through the lines before they could unite, but they’d also need archers to strike them down before they could even reach the bank, and strong, determined men in heavy armour with spears and pikes, to hold them at bay, neither of which they had.

Glancing at his commander, he could see that Ser Edmure felt the same as him. The only thing left was to withdraw into Riverrun before Tywin could cross the river and finish them, but Riverrun was a small castle by Paramount standards, mayhaps a thousand could fit inside, at best. Jason and Jonos exchanged looks, before they came to a decision.

“Fall back to the castle, Ser” Lord Jason said, tone brooking no dissention. 

“What of you and Lord Jonos?” Edmure asked, the problem obvious to him. “We’ll never fit all of our men inside?”

Both Lords frowned, before Jonos pointed to the castle. “Go, Ser. Take as many cavalry as can fit inside with you, and I’ll take the rest with me to Riverhold. We’ll ride south and tell your sister what has happened, hopefully Lady Alyssa can add her strength to ours and we can deal with Tywin once and for all.”

The thought seemed to please Edmure, before Jason gave a bark of humourless laughter. “Do you think it will be that easy, Jonos? As soon as he reaches Riverrun, Lord Tywin will place the castle under siege, he’d be a fool not to. Ser Edmure’s knights will be of no help to us trapped inside.” He sighed, shoulders sinking in defeat. “This battle is over. I’m taking my men back to Seagard, I’d never make it to Riverhold in time and hopefully Tywin won’t follow us that far. Tell Lady Alyssa, Jonos, that Seagard stands ready to aid her should she need it.”

Sadly, Edmure nodded, unable to argue with the logic of either man’s plan. “May the Seven watch over you both.” He turned his horse and rode for Riverrun, shouting for men to follow him. Roughly a thousand knights were tailing him by the time he reached Riverrun, the garrison clearly recognising the Tully banner as they let down the drawbridge. As he passed through the gates, both men breathed a sigh of relief, but noise from across the river told them both they had no more time left as shouting warcries, the Lannister foot committed at last. 

Bidding Bracken a hasty farewell, Jason tapped his heels into his horse’s side and led the men of Seagard west, towards a place where they could ford the Tumblestone and head north, back to Seagard. Jonos meanwhile, spurred his horse south, followed by the remaining eight hundred cavalry, riding hard for Riverhold. Across the river, the cries faded away as Blackwood’s valiant last stand at last ended. 

 

Lord Tywin was wiping his blade in thought, when Ser Addam appeared, gripping a beaten and bloodied figure in yellow armor and a large feathered cloak by the upper arm. The way he was slumping told Tywin that the man was being held not so much because he might escape but to keep him upright. Ser Addam threw the man onto his knees, drew his sword and pointed it at him. “Lord Tytos Blackwood of Raventree Hall, my lord.” 

Tywin took the time to regard him. While he was not a man who gave out compliments easily, part of him was quietly impressed at Lord Tytos’ rearguard action. Outnumbered three or four to one, he had nevertheless held the riverbank for crucial minutes, time that had given a large portion of the Tully army the opportunity to escape across the river.

Glancing down at the Lord of Raventree Hall, Tywin saw him swaying, but the man remained on his knees and Tywin noticed blood matting his hair. He turned on Ser Addam. “I told you I wanted him alive.”

Ser Addam was unapologetic; “I tried to take him unharmed, my lord, but he would not surrender. His pikemen thrust until the pikes caught, then they used their knives and their fists. Lord Tytos himself refused to relinquish his blade, slaying many of our men before I struck him in the head with the pommel of my sword.”

After a moment Tywin nodded. “Very well Ser Addam, I cannot blame you for disobeying my orders, Lord Tytos gave you no choice.” He turned to the man in question. “Now what to do with you, my lord Blackwood. His Grace King Joffrey orders you to King’s Landing to swear him fealty. If you will bend your knee to His Grace, and obey his command, it is likely you will be pardoned, and allowed to keep your lands and titles, as you were only doing as your liege lord commanded.”

Lord Tytos lifted his head, and Tywin could see that his hooked nose had been broken at some point during the battle, but the defiance in his eyes remained undamaged. “Apologies, my lord, but I bend my knee to one House only, and that House is Tully”, he croaked in a voice that was hoarse from fatigue and thirst.

Lord Tywin inwardly sighed.

_ What a waste of a brave man. Seven save me from honourable fools. _

“Very well. Ser Addam, put Lord Tytos in irons and have Lord Garrison Prester escort him to Stone Hedge along with the rest of our prisoners.”

“Not the Tooth or the Rock, my lord?” Ser Addam Marbrand was a good man, and a competent battle commander, but thinking in a wider scope was beyond him. 

With an effort, Tywin resisted the urge to sigh or bury his head in his hands, instead remaining in control and speaking slowly. “No, Ser Addam. With the Tully girl holding Riverhold, sending prisoners west of Riverrun is asking for them to be freed on the way to the Tooth. Stone Hedge is our base for now, and it is there we will hold the prisoners.” Ser Addam bowed, and dragged Lord Tytos away, the Lord of Raventree Hall having exhausted himself with his brave defiance.

Looking back to the field, Tywin noticed his brother riding towards him. Kevan drew rein in front of him and bowed as best he could in the saddle. “My lord.”

Tywin nodded briefly in acknowledgement. “Kevan. How many did we lose?”

Tywin was shocked to see his brother bow his head. “Blackwood’s archers took a brutal toll on Ser Addam’s cavalry, and Tytos Blackwood killed or wounded nearly a thousand more holding the ford. Two thousand casualties all told, an eighth part of our force.”

_ Steeper than I had hoped or would have liked. I did not count on Lord Blackwood, his defence of the fords cost hundreds of lives on both sides that otherwise might have been saved. _

“And what did they die for? How stands the Tully forces?”

Tywin watched his brother’s face curl into a smile. “Lord Mallister escaped with his full power. Ser Tully and half his knights also escaped into Riverrun, but Lord Blackwood’s archers and pikemen, as per your orders, are dead to a man. Aside from that, the Tully forces were wiped out. We have hundreds of knights prisoner, Ser Halmon Paege and the Lords Ryger and Goodbrook. Jason Mallister retreats back to Seagard and Edmure Tully is trapped inside Riverrun.”

“Good. A decisive victory for our House.” As Kevan turned to leave, Tywin raised his hand as a thought struck him. “What of Jonos Bracken? Of all the Tully commanders you failed to mention him.”

Kevan’s head bowed in shame. “Lord Bracken has escaped us, my lord. He fled south with eight hundred men, and was last seen riding along the River Road with all possible haste. His direction of travel makes Riverhold his likely destination. I fear we will find ourselves greeted by Alyssa Tully’s host sooner than we would like.”

Tywin made a motion as if flicking away a fly. “Even with the losses we’ve suffered here today, we still have her two to one. And if she comes to give battle, she will do so on a field of our choosing, this will not be like Riverhold. She doesn’t have the men, and she knows it. Even if she rode up to Seagard and convinced Lord Jason to join his power to hers, we will still have her numbers. ”

A nod greeted Tywin’s response. “Lord Mallister is retreating west, we believe he means to cross the Tumblestone and fall back to Seagard. Ser Addam asks permission to pursue.”

Without even hesitating to think about it, Tywin shook his head. “His knights are exhausted after battling Blackwood’s men, and Mallister has a head start, Ser Addam would never catch him before he fords the Tumblestone, and if Marbrand tried to continue the chase across the river, Mallister would destroy him as he tried to seize the ford.”

Tywin’s lips twitched as another smile threatened to break out. “No, Kevan, if Bracken wants to run crying to Lady Alyssa, let him. Let Mallister fly back to his nest.” He pointed across the river to where the Tully castle stood, red walls rising from the moat. “Riverrun is the true prize.”

Kevan raised his head. “Then what will our next move be, my lord?”

Tywin pointed to the field full of dead and dying. “Our first task is to finish our business here. See to our wounded, and mercy any of theirs unless their families can pay a ransom. I have no intention of holding hundreds of lowborn soldiers prisoner. Then reform our forces and press across the river; make camp in front of the castle, but out of range of their catapults.

Come first light on the morrow, I want the men digging trenches, setting palisades and setting camps. The siege of Riverrun begins now.” Kevan bowed, and raced off to give the orders.

The sun was sinking low over Tywin’s tent before his generals were assembled. Looking at the map for another moment while he determined his strategy, he glanced up. “My lords. Thank you for your prompt attendance to this summons. It is time to plan the next stage of this war. The Tully girl lacks the men to break our siege, so as long as we do not weaken our force too heavily, we have some freedom to act. Our first order of business is to prevent her from gaining any more support. Ser Gregor.”  The Mountain, recently retrieved from under a pile of corpses that had prevented him from moving, looked at Tywin expectantly. “You are to take two thousand men and storm Castle Lychester. Their banners were absent from the battle, and while their strength is insignificant, it may still add a few men to her numbers. I want the castle burned and the garrison put to the sword.”

Grinning, the Mountain bowed and rose from his seat. “Lychester will burn m’lord, I’ll see to it myself.” He ducked through the tent’s entrance and left, already bellowing orders. Putting Ser Gregor’s rude departure before given leave to do so from his mind, Tywin pressed on.

“Ser Addam, you will take another two thousand and secure the submission of Raventree Hall. With Lord Tytos as our prisoner and all their men slain, the Blackwoods should yield the castle easily, but if they do not, leave your men to besiege it and return here for reinforcements. However, your main goal is to capture the castle intact. Raventree is a solid stronghold, and would make a useful base between Riverrun and Seagard should Lord Mallister decide to march on us.”

Quietly, Ser Addam bowed, intent on listening to the remainder of the plan. “Kevan”, Tywin continued, “unleash Ser Amory and Vargo Hoat on the lands of Alyssa Tully and those who followed her. Each is to have five hundred horse. I want the Riverlands afire from the Red Fork to the Blackwater Rush.”

“They will burn, my lord.” Ser Kevan bowed. “I will give the commands.” At Tywin’s nod, Kevan turned and left the tent. Staring at the map, Tywin placed three lion markers around Riverrun. “As for the rest of you, I want our forces split into three equal camps; one north of the Tumblestone under the command of Lord Lefford, one south of the Red Fork under the command of Lord Serrett and one here, where the rivers meet. I will command that personally. Ser Brax, you are in charge of siege engines. Rams to break the gates. Ladders and towers to climb the walls. Bridges to cross the moat. Trebuchets to break the walls. We need all of these and more. Set our carpenters to work. Lord Lydden, I want booms across the Tumblestone and Red Fork. If a boat tries to reach Riverrun, I want it captured or sunk. Work together with Lord Lefford to place scorpions and catapults along the river to see this done. I will have no supplies reach the Tullys, do I make myself clear?”

Upon receiving nods and various other displays of understanding from his lords, Tywin jerked his head. “To your tasks, my lords. Riverrun and Riverhold are the last Tully strongholds west of the Rush, and within six turns of the moon I want the lion flying over them both.” One by one, his commanders filed out, and Tywin was left alone,  before strolling out of his tent and staring over the moonlit waters of the Red Fork at Riverrun, trout banner flying from its red walls, defiant in the face of the sea of red and gold.

_ Once Riverrun falls, Alyssa Tully’s army will stand alone. I can smash her and free Jaime with ease, and then she will pay the price for laying hands on one of my blood. I’ll have to have a new song made. ‘The Tullys of Riverrun’ isn’t an awe-inspiring name. I must remember to hire a bard, because when I am done with House Tully, none will dare challenge the might of House Lannister again for at least a hundred years. I will make sure of it. _

Coldly, he gave one last look to the Tully castle, before heading for his tent, and sleep.


	18. Ride of the Dolphin

Waking in the maester’s chambers was as unpleasant for Alyssa as always. Getting off the bed, she slowly found her armor and weapons and began to dress. She felt a stab of pain as she automatically went to belt on her sword, only to find it missing. A young girl in a dress of Tully colors was there to help her dress, one of her servants, she now realized.  Swinging her cloak around her shoulders, she turned, only to see her uncle in the doorway, his craggy face breaking into an enormous smile. “Alyssa, gods be good!”

She blinked slowly, glancing into the glass Maester Lucas kept nearby. The face that stared back at her, shocked her to her core. The long red hair and blue eyes were hers, no question, and the scars as well, but her skin was paler than usual, and her eyes had sunken slightly. As she recoiled, the world seemed to spin, her right leg buckled and she lost her balance. Ever faithful, Brynden caught her as she fell backwards, effortlessly bracing her against his chest, before laying her on the bed.

Alyssa tried to stand, but her leg would not support her, and she collapsed back onto the bed with a groan. “What...what happened to me uncle?”

“Easy there” Brynden cautioned, his eyes wide in concern. “What do you remember, my lady?”

“I…” she tried to focus her thoughts. The last thing she remembered was knocking the Kingslayer senseless. “I remember the battle...the Kingslayer...then nothing.”

Brynden nodded, face giving nothing away. “You took many wounds, my lady, and though they were not severe, one festered.  It was a mere nick on your leg, but Maester Lucas is young, and overlooked it in favour of treating your more serious injuries first. You took ill, and he feared for your life. He was forced to put you to sleep for days at the end to allow him to treat it properly.”

“Why?” Alyssa asked, fingers encountering a large bandage over her right upper leg. “What treatment could need me to sleep for that long?”

Before she could touch further, the maester appeared in the doorway, arms laden with bandages, and took in the situation with a glance. “Lady Alyssa.” He put down the bandages and reached beside him for a wooden bucket. He glanced briefly at Brynden, and the Blackfish’s face hardened grimly. He nodded, before his hand speared out and his fist clenched around Alyssa’s wrist, holding her in an iron grip. 

As he grasped her other arm, Alyssa unsure of what was happening, began struggling to break free as Maester Lucas approached, small blade in hand, but her uncle’s grip was unrelenting. Helpless, Alyssa was unable to resist as the young man placed the bucket under her leg, shoved her knee forward so it rested in the bucket and began cutting the bandages off her leg with careful movements of the blade. 

Almost as soon as the bandage was loose, Alyssa could feel something  _ moving  _ inside her leg, before Lucas tapped the edge of the wound, and something began wriggling its way out, before tumbling off and landing in the bucket. As more and more emerged, Alyssa felt herself needing to be sick at the thought of disgusting worms inside her leg. Without even a prompt, Brynden placed a second bucket with reach and her last meal made a violent reappearance.

Without even blinking an eye at this, Lucas continued his work, carefully counting each one as it left her body. When the last one had joined the others and his count reached twenty-five, he bustled away with the bucket, and with Alyssa’s stomach now empty, returned to take hers. As she tried to come to terms with what had just happened, she felt the grip on her arms release, before her uncle smiled sheepishly at her. “I acted the same way the first time they were used on me. Disgusting, true, but when it comes to eating infection, those little buggers are second to none.” He stared at her, face completely serious. “We had no choice Alyssa, it was that or you lose your leg.”

_ Lose my leg…  _ A thought ran through her mind for an instant, as she imagined never being able to fight again, all her training for nothing. Eventually she’d be pressured into marrying whoever would have a one-legged wife, and giving him children she’d have to enviously watch grow up and race around. Against her will, she shuddered at the thought.

_ Never. I’d die first. _

Maester Lucas came back in with the milk of the poppy, and without a word of protest, Alyssa drank, and fell back into the arms of sleep once more.

When she woke again, the sun was high in the sky, shining brightly through the windows, and as soon as she stood, Alyssa knew instantly that her strength was back. She rang for a servant, and asked for a hearty meal to be brought to her. After days in bed, she knew not how long as yet, she was starving and she ate like a wolf.

After a servant took away her empty plate, her uncle arrived once again, and appeared quite relieved to see her up and about. “Good to see you up, my lady. You look to be on the mend.”

“How long was I asleep?”

Playfully, Brynden tilted his head as if to consider the question. “Today, or since the battle?” The look Alyssa levelled him with showed no humour, and after a moment, Brynden sighed. “Fifteen days. The maggots went in four days ago.”

She nodded slowly, still unsteady on her feet. “Good to be out of bed, Uncle. Is the Kingslayer in his?”

Brynden chuckled. “The Kingslayer, is wearing two sets of chains in our deepest dungeon, my lady.”

Her face lit up in a wide grin. “Music to my ears.” She seemed to sober. “How fared the battle?”

“A victory, my lady, but a costly one.” His face fell. “We took Mallor the Dornishman, Quenten Banefort, Gawen Westerling, Regenard Estren and many other knights and lords bannermen, while we killed Willem Lannister and Andros Brax, but we lost many. The total number is fifteen hundred dead or wounded, my lady.  Lord Piper’s foot paid dearly for blocking the Kingslayer’s retreat, but Wayfarer’s Rest had the most grievous losses. The Lannister archers slew hundreds, and Lord Vance himself was killed in the closing moments of the battle.

Weakly, Alyssa bowed her head in respect, forming the Seven-Pointed Star painfully.  _ Fifteen hundred! That’s a sixth of our entire force. This battle cost us dear.  _ Instinctively, she reached for the hilt of her sword, only to feel nothing. 

Noting the movement, Ser Brynden sighed. “I’m sorry my lady. The smith was able to mend your mail and I found your shorter blade, but the Kingslayer’s Valyrian blade destroyed River’s Edge. It would need to be forged anew, and our smith lacks the skill. To make it what it once was, you would need the man who forged it,  so you may have to visit Riverrun to have it remade.”

Brynden’s pause at the word Riverrun was near miniscule, but Alyssa noticed the movement and instantly, she knew something was wrong. “What has happened at Riverrun?”

Brynden’s face set into a frown. ‘It is not my place to mention, my lady. You have a guest.”

He stepped aside, and a broad-chested man strode in, the red stallion of Bracken rearing across his plates. The horsehair crested greathelm under his arm instantly told Alyssa who he was as much as his sigil did. “Lord Bracken. Welcome to Riverhold. I’d offer you bread and salt, but I am slightly indisposed at present. What brings you to my hall?”

Jonos Bracken placed his helm on the bed and looked her in the eyes. “I come from Riverrun, my lady. I bring news about Ser Edmure.” 

A chill shook her body, and instantly Alyssa knew that something ill had befallen her brother. “What happened to Edmure?” Lord Bracken sighed, the sigh of a man defeated, and began his tale. When he was finished, Alyssa’s mouth drew into a frown.

“Twelve thousand men? Edmure should have been able to muster twice, maybe three times that. Why was the host so small, my lord?”

In lieu of answering, Lord Jonos shook his head. “The Mountain and his reavers have been pillaging the lands near the Tooth. Many lords kept much of their forces back to protect their own lands from the threat, and Ser Edmure decided to split his force in half; sending a band of two hundred men to every village and holdfast a day’s ride from the border, ten thousand men in all.”

“So what you’re telling me is that because of Edmure’s foolishness” she paused at this point, nearly speechless from rage and shock “all our work here has been for naught. “Tywin Lannister has fourteen thousand men besieging Riverrun and Edmure is trapped in there with more than five times Riverrun’s garrison, while Tywin Lannister’s reavers burn our lands, and there’s nothing we can do about it?” She groaned in dismay.

Lord Bracken’s grim nod was her answer. “Riverrun could hold out for years normally, but that many mouths in the castle will go through the food within two moons. Mayhaps they can last for three if they butcher their horses, but no more than that”

Alyssa winced. “Even if we took every man we have and left this second, Lord Tywin would still outnumber us nearly two to one.”

A deep sigh came from the Blackfish’ lips. “Aye, we need more men.”

Alyssa turned to look at Lord Bracken. “Lord Jonos, you were at Riverrun with my brother. Were there any Houses that didn’t make it to the muster?”

“Aye, my lady”, Bracken said grimly, gesturing to the map. “May I?” Alyssa handed him a quill, and he proceeded to dip it in water and make wet marks next to the castles that had not yet contributed to the war effort. After a few moments, he stood back and allow Alyssa to survey his work

Blue eyes narrowed as Alyssa glared at the map. “Lychester, Roote, Frey, Vypren and Mooton” Her lips drew back into a snarl. “So many of my lord father’s bannermen betraying him.” 

Ruefully, Brynden sighed. “Not surprising, my lady. That old weasel Frey never commits unless he is sure he will be on the winning side. He’ll have called his swords, just in case we win, so he can march them south once the battle is won. Vypren’s never been a strong House, with their lands so poor they usually follow Frey’s lead. William Mooton is the most cowardly Lord I ever met, until Maidenpool itself is threatened, he couldn’t care less about the rest of the Riverlands. Roote’s old lord died recently,, the new lord of Harroway is a boy who may not understand his duty. And as for Lychester, you know of that already.”

Red hair shaded her face as Alyssa’s head dropped into her palm. “So while Roote may be ignorant, the other lords are simply cowardly, treacherous or cautious, and won’t make a move to help Riverrun unless something spurs them into doing so. Would that be an accurate description, my lords?”

Lord Jonos nodded, face set. “You could send all the ravens in Westeros, my lady, and unless an army marches on their seats, those lords won’t help you.”

As if struck by a bolt of lightning, her head snapped upward. “Unless an army marches on their seats, hmm?” She smiled grimly. “Then perhaps we should arrange that.”

Brynden shot Bracken a nervous glance. “My lady, if I may ask, what are you planning?”

Alyssa inked her quill before responding. “If my father’s bannermen need an army at their seats to spur them into action, then an army they will have. I’ll take twenty men and enough food for five days and ride north to Seagard. Lord Jason is loyal, I don’t doubt he’ll agree to add his strength to ours. With Seagard’s levies behind us, we will head further north and cross at the Twins collecting Lord Walder’s forces as we pass. Once we have crossed the Green Fork, we will then march down the Kingsroad, stopping at the seat of House Vypren and then crossing the Trident to collect what forces we can from Lord Harroway’s Town. 

With our host now vastly swelled we will march back to Riverhold, crossing the Red Fork at Riverhold and then moving north to Riverrun to engage the Lannisters. If Roote, Vypren  or any of the others refuse to aid us, then we will storm their keeps, break their gates and hang them as an oathbreaker.” She turned to the two men watching silently. “What do you think, my lords?”

Brynden was the first to speak. “Well, it’s…” he struggled to find the words. “It’s certainly an...ambitious plan, my lady” he said diplomatically.

Lord Bracken, not related to Alyssa and feeling no need to spare her feelings, was far blunter. “It’s a terrible plan, my lady. First of all, to reach Seagard and the Twins you must cross House Blackwood’s lands, and Lord Tytos was captured at Riverrun with nearly his entire strength destroyed. It would take nearly no effort for the Lannisters to take Raventree Hall, and Fairmarket and the road to Oldstones are close enough that a force from Raventree could close off the road easily.”

Alyssa’s smile didn’t waver. “I’ve planned for that, Lord Bracken.” She tapped the hills north of Riverrun. “These are the lands of House Grell, landed knights sworn to Riverrun, and although their seat is small, it is a difficult keep to take. Nestled in the hills as it is, the only way to access it is a small winding path wide enough for two horsemen. Siege engines cannot be brought to the gate, even a small force could hold it for weeks. Lord Tywin won’t have captured it yet. If we head north from Riverhold, and cross the Tumblestone, we can move through Grell land, and then hopefully avoid detection in Blackwood land by skirting the edge of the western mountains until we reach Oldstones, then move up through Sevenstreams and Hag’s Mire until we reach Seagard, past the Blue Fork, around the Green Fork and up to the Twins.”

Brynden rubbed his chin carefully. “It could work, my lady, but there is still one problem. This plan hinges on Walder Frey not only letting you cross his bridge, but giving you his men. Walder Frey has no love for Riverrun, and you can’t threaten him the way you would Vypren or Roote. Even if Lord Mallister adds his strength to yours, Lord Walder will still have more men than you; you would lack the men or equipment to take the Twins, and he knows it. The only way you would convince him is with sweet words and a generous offer.”

Lord Jonos cleared his throat. “My lady, you do realize that old Walder Frey and your lord father don’t get along? Lord Hoster calls him the Late Lord Frey for a reason; late to the Trident, late to his own funeral. Especially with Riverrun now in danger, he won’t help a Tully.”

Alyssa shook her head. “No, he won’t help Edmure or my father. But I went to visit him after Father named me Warden of the Western Hills, and I’ve maintained a good relationship with him ever since. Lord Walder might help me, especially if we offer him something he has wanted for years.”

Brynden’s mouth opened in shock. “Don’t tell me you’re seriously considering offering yourself to marry a Frey?”

Alyssa laughed. “Don’t be foolish, Uncle. Even if I did, it wouldn’t be enough to sway him on something this big. It is high time Edmure married though, don’t you think?”

Brynden nodded. “The letters I’ve had from Hoster over the years say the boy is fond of wenching and has no desire to marry, normally I would be the last one to tell anyone who he should marry, but he will be lord of Riverrun someday, and he will need heirs, trueborn heirs, no offence Alyssa.”

Alyssa shrugged. “It’s the truth, I’ve gotten used to it.”

Lord Jonos cleared his throat. “ My lady, may I remind you that your father is still Lord of Riverrun, and Ser Edmure, as his heir will be Lord after him. So how are you planning to get Edmure to marry a Frey girl? He’s your liege lord, not the other way around, you have no authority to arrange his marriage.”

Alyssa smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. “I’m going to break the siege, with the Freys by my side, then afterwards, when Edmure thanks me, I’m going to praise them as the saviours of Riverrun. If Lord Frey, or more likely whichever son or grandson he sends to lead the Frey forces plays his part, Edmure should have no way to decline the offer of marriage without looking like an honourless fool in front of his lords.”

Brynden frowned. “You’re Hoster’s daughter all right, but I now find myself wondering if your mother wasn’t a Lannister, that’s quite cunning.”

Unsure whether to take that as a compliment or insult, she ignored it and pushed on, pointing to the map once more. “Here’s my plan, Uncle. I’ll take twenty men and ride for the Twins. Lord Walder may be offended if I send a raven, and this is too important to risk offending him. We’ll raft across the Tumblestone and take two horses, switching every ten miles. If we ride hard, we should reach the Twins in four days, counting the time to cross the Tumblestone. Whether Lord Walder gives his support or not, I mean to return with at least House Mallister’s men marching beside us, Lord Jason was always loyal to my father. From what Lord Jonos says, most of the Seagard levies escaped; so I don’t doubt Lord Jason will agree to help us.”

“He would, if he was at Seagard”. Alyssa and Brynden both turned to stare at Lord Jonos for the interruption. “Think about it, my lady, Lord Mallister left Riverrun only three days ago. Unlike you who can take extra horses and ride quickly, he will be forced to march at the speed of his foot. He’ll not even have crossed the Tumblestone yet, he won’t reach Seagard at that rate for nearly a moon.”

Alyssa stared at the map for a moment before she smiled. “With an army that large, he’ll have to travel north to Fairmarket, cross the Blue Fork and then march around its headwaters to Seagard. If we catch him on the way to Fairmarket, we can join with his forces, before marching to the Twins.”

Brynden surveyed the map for a minute before he nodded. ‘It’s a sound plan, and with the strength of both Seagard and The Twins added to our own, we would have enough men to challenge Lord Tywin head to head,  **if** Walder Frey cooperates. The trouble is, from Fairmarket to the Twins is nearly a moon’s march, and from the Twins to Harroway and back here is moons more; Riverrun may not hold out that long.”

Alyssa stared at him for a second, before he nodded, giving his reluctant approval. Alyssa turned to the Lord of Stone Hedge. “The riders of House Bracken are the finest horsemen in the Riverlands, and I can think of none I’d rather have with me on a long, hard ride like this will be. Will you and your men join me, Lord Jonos?” 

The broad-chested man nodded gleefully. “A chance to repay the Lannister scum for taking my castle and smashing my forces? I and the strength of Stone Hedge, however little that may amount to now, are at your disposal, my lady.” 

Blowing out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, she got up to head to the stables to saddle her horse, while Brynden moved off to organise the men. While normally difficult to find twenty men willing to gallop across the Riverlands and back again, the men of House Bracken were eager for vengeance so the thought of more men to help attack Lord Tywin meant that she had plenty of volunteers. Soon the preparations were complete, and Alyssa was mounting her horse, ready to leave. Brynden followed her out, a sack in hand. 

“Before you leave, my lady, I have some things that may help you in your negotiations with old Frey.” He tossed her the sack, and Alyssa opened it to find Jaime Lannister’s ornate lion-head helm, still stained with the mud and blood of the battlefield. “And if that wasn’t enough, this should clinch it.” He brought a sword out from behind his back, and Alyssa recognised it instantly. How could she not? Not only was she the one who commissioned that sword to be created, it was the sword that had nearly killed her, were it not for Uncle Brynden’s intervention. Bloodclaw. The Valyrian steel sword of House Lannister, in its lion embossed sheath, wrested from Jaime Lannister’s side while he was stunned. “The Kingslayer’s helm and sword. Should help convince old Frey that not only are you telling the truth, but you have the ability to win. Of course, in the end, it will still be up to you to persuade him, so be careful what you say and don’t screw this up.” Alyssa just nodded, fully aware of what was at stake. “Be safe out there” he said, grasping her hand.“And be careful around Lord Frey, I’ve met wet shits I trust better than him and his brood”.

Alyssa gripped his hand for an instant. “I know, Uncle. In the meantime, I have other tasks for you. First, get our men ready to march. Secondly, send House Grell a raven. If they have fresh horses waiting at their keep, we can push these horses harder than usual getting there. And finally, send our fastest riders out to the border, and try to gather up as many of those groups Lord Bracken mentioned as possible. By the end of this; I’ve no doubt that we’ll need every sword we can get. May the Seven watch over you.”

Brynden released her hand. “And you, my lady niece. I shall do as you command.”

Alyssa tapped her heels into the side of her horse and with a whistle, the column of riders moved out of Riverhold’s gate, moving towards the Tumblestone. The journey passed like a blur for Alyssa, swimming horses across the river and poling armour and weapons across the Tumblestone on crude rafts took most of the first day. After that she fell into a routine of riding, changing horses, riding, changing horses, grabbing a bite of food or a drink of water while changing horses, riding, sleeping, waking up, eating and riding again. The journey seemed to pass as a blur. She vaguely noticed as they rested for a few hours at House Grell’s keep, before changing horses and moving on.  

It was dusk on the third day, as they camped in a wooded valley near Blackwood Vale, that Lord Jonos informed Alyssa that the Mallister men had been spotted by the outriders a few hours march away. 

Alyssa readied herself, and soon a column of men marched up to the wood, silver and purple banners flying overhead. Alyssa and Lord Jonos rode out to meet them, the signs of battle obvious among the Mallister host. At their head, Lord Jason himself rode proudly, eagle-winged helm dented and purple cloak stained with blood. His beard had more grey since Alyssa had last seen him, but in all other respects he was the same man, and he looked up, eyes widening as they approached.

“Jonos!” Lord Jason’s face was beaming, “gods be good you made it! I thought you dead with the rest.”

“Not yet.” Lord Bracken smiled grimly, “though the Lannisters did their best to make it otherwise. Lord Jason Mallister of Seagard, may I present Lady Alyssa Tully of Riverhold, Warden of the Western Hills.”

“We’ve met before.” Lord Jason’s mind was clearly elsewhere, before what Lord Jonos had said seemed to register with him. “Lady Alyssa? What are you doing here, my lady? I was led to believe that Ser Edmure ordered you to meet the Kingslayer in battle and delay him.”

“Done and more than done, my lord.” Alyssa chuckled briefly. “His host is smashed and the Kingslayer is my prisoner.”

“What are you doing here then?”

“With the Kingslayer beaten, Riverhold is now safe, so I must now turn my attention to Riverrun. My brother’s defeat leaves it surrounded by Lannisters, and I lack the strength to relieve it.”

“And you want my forces to change that.” Lord Jason’s sigil may have been an eagle, but he was sharp as a fox when he needed to be. “That’s why you’re here. Lord Jonos told you I retreated, and you knew I would have to pass this way, is that the way of it?”

“It is, my lord.” Alyssa reached into her belt, and only Lord Jason’s raised hand checked the Silver Eagles from grabbing for their swords at the sound of a blade being drawn. “Years ago, when I visited Seagard, we made an oath, to aid each other should the call come. The oath was to return it to Seagard, I know, but the need is there nonetheless.” She held out the dagger, hilt first, Lord Jason staring wordlessly at the silver eagle that formed the hilt, knowing well what that represented.

“Riverhold calls for aid. In the name of my father, Lord Hoster Tully, Riverrun calls for aid.”

Lord Jason stared a moment, before his face tightened in determination and he nodded. “And Seagard shall answer.” He took the blade, sliding it into the sheath Alyssa handed to him. “I regret that I cannot return its twin, but I keep it stored safely at Seagard. What is your plan, my lady?”

Alyssa told him what she intended, and his face fell in dismay. “I swore to aid you, my lady, and I will, but my men are exhausted. To reach Seagard would be nearly a moon, and by the time we reached the Twins, marched down the Kingsroad, past Harroway, along the River Road and across the Red Fork, my men would have been on the move near constantly for four moons since we left Seagard. We’d be in no state to fight after that, not to mention Lord Tywin’s outriders would know of our movements and any hope of surprising him would be gone.”

“Damn.” Frustrated, Alyssa looked around in search of inspiration, before a thought struck her.

“Mayhaps they don’t have to, my lord. Speed is essential, and I need to reach the Twins quickly, not to mention your men are as you say, exhausted. But you don’t need to accompany me all the way there; even with your men, I couldn’t threaten the Twins, and Lord Walder knows it. But Lord Vypren is a different matter, I’ll need your strength there as a show of force. If you lead your men over the bridge at Fairmarket and make camp on the other bank, then that should be a good enough incentive for Lord Vypren not to side with the Lannisters. Then, when I arrive, hopefully with the Freys, we should have enough men together to bring him to heel.”

“A task I would relish, my lady.” Lord Jason’s eyes were hard. “Vypren’s been a thorn in Hoster’s side for years, not as much as old Frey, true, but they have always been among the slowest to answer Riverrun’s calls. Despite how weak his House has become, Vypren keeps trying to gain Fairmarket from the Blackwoods, and makes threats that he can’t back up. Your father let Frey’s defiance stand because the Twins is too good a castle, it would have taken tens of thousands of men years to root them out. House Vypren’s seat is not the Twins, I would dearly love to wipe the smirk from Lucias’ face.”

“If it comes to that, I’ll be sure you get the chance, Lord Jason” Alyssa promised, before Lord Jason turned and began moving his forces towards Fairmarket. Alyssa and Jonos rode back into the wood, before gathering their men to continue their journey.


	19. Dolphin at the Crossing

Four days later, she sighted the Twins as night fell. The Lords of the Crossing made their seat in two identical keeps, one on each bank of the river, between them the Water Tower, guarding the massive stone bridge that the Freys drew their wealth and power from, the only crossing of the Green Fork for hundreds of miles. However, it was not for their bridge that Alyssa came today.  As she drew nearer, she could see that Lord Walder had assembled his full force on the west bank of the Trident, whether he meant to join his power to hers or not was yet to be seen. As her group drew to a halt on the bank, the drawbridge lowered, and a sally port opened. 

A dozen of Lord Walder’s knights rode out, led by a man she recognized from her last journey to the Twins. “Ser Stevron, it’s good to see you again.” Stevron Frey was the oldest of Walder Frey’s sons, approaching his sixty-fifth year, and his heir when the old man eventually died.  He was also one of the more pleasant to speak to, as unlike some in the Twins, he had not yet forgotten his courtesies.

“Greetings, my lady, my lord. My lord father send his welcome and asks that you share meat and mead with him while you explain your purpose here.”

Inwardly, Alyssa smiled. Words like this meant that Lord Walder must be in a good mood, all the better for her and her mission. “Ser Stevron, I would be delighted to share food and drink with Lord Walder. I gratefully accept. Lord Jonos, please take command and make camp for the night.” The Lord of Stone Hedge began to make preparations for camping on the bank of the Green Fork, while Alyssa tapped her heels into her horse and moved forward, Ser Stevron matching her pace, the rest of his knights surrounding them like an honour guard. 

The great hall of the west castle was a grand place, with the Lord’s seat a massive chair of black oak with the back carved in the shape of the Twins. Lord Walder entered on his litter, carried by several of his sons. Beside the litter, walked a young girl of sixteen, the eighth Lady Frey. After Lord Walder was lifted into his chair, his sons tucking his legs in with a blanket, Alyssa bowed. “It is good to see you well after so many years, my lord. You don’t seem to have aged a day since last I saw you.”

Walder chuckled, his papery voice indicating his great age. “And it’s good to see that not all of old Hoster’s children have forgotten the respect due to House Frey.”

Alyssa’s next step would have been to ask for food, to secure guest right, but as she opened her mouth, her stomach rumbled loudly enough to be heard by nearly everyone present. With a blush, Alyssa remembered that she had not eaten anything that day, her and her men skipping food in favour of reaching the Twins before nightfall.

Lord Walder, thankfully, seemed more amused by this than anything. “Forget something, my lady?” he chuckled, before signalling for a servant to bring in bread and meat. With great effort, Alyssa restrained herself from tearing into it, eating at as controlled a pace she could manage, Lord Walder chortling as he watched.

“In a hurry were we?” He suddenly snapped his fingers, as if remembering something. “Oh, yes. Eat of my food and be welcome in this hall, my hospitality is yours...so on and so forth”. His voice showed so little enthusiasm that it would have been an insult from any other Lord, but with Walder Frey’s distaste for formalities, that was really about the best you could get.

After the servants had cleared away the remnants of her impromptu meal, Lord Frey leaned forwards on his chair. “So, Lady Tully, now that’s all done with, what brings you to my hall? And speak plainly please, I enjoyed the compliments, but I am too old for sweet words, especially ones that we both know are lies, heh.”

Alyssa nodded, eyes turning serious now. Lord Walder was right, it was time to get to business. “It shall be as you wish then, my lord. As you know, the Riverlands have been attacked by the Lannisters. An invasion from the west has taken us nearly by surprise, and now Tywin Lannister lays siege to my lord father’s castle with fourteen thousand men, while my brother is trapped inside. 

You are my lord father’s bannerman, and with my lord father incapacitated, my brother unable to communicate to his vassals and my sisters in the North and the Vale, the duty of command falls to me. I have come for your swords, to add your strength to ours and teach Tywin Lannister that Lannisters aren’t the only ones who pay their debts.” She took a breath and looked around the hall, at the many faces of Lord Walder’s sons and grandsons staring at her.

Lord Walder laughed. “Heh. Well, you certainly don’t mince words, Lady Alyssa. I called my swords, yes and as you can see my strength is assembled. I was going to march as soon as my men were ready, but word came of your fool brother losing his battle before we could. Why should I send my boys south to die?” He raised an eyebrow in mock concern. “And, an invasion from the West, isn’t it your job to prevent that happening, isn’t that why you got the fancy title and the bannermen, Warden?”

Despite the insult, Alyssa was not angered, as she knew something that Lord Walder didn’t. “Aye, Lord Walder, that’s my duty to prevent. And considering that the Kingslayer now sits in my dungeons with his host destroyed, I’d say I’m doing it quite well, wouldn’t you?”

The great hall of the Twins exploded into pandemonium as everyone present had their own opinion, and was attempting to shout over the others to make themselves heard. Many screamed that Alyssa was a liar, and she found herself checking the impulse to reach for the hilt of the sword hanging by her side, she’d save that surprise for later. Others were claiming that Lord Tywin would never forgive this, and that they should take her and deliver her to him in chains to buy his mercy. Ser Stevron’s side seemed to be supporting the idea of marching on Lord Tywin to gain the good will of their fellow Riverlords. 

Eventually, Lord Walder had had enough. Reaching for his wine glass, with surprising strength for a man of ninety name days, he smashed it against the arm of his chair and the sound of shattering glass, as well as the need to shield themselves from flying shards made the hall go silent. “Shattered the Kingslayer’s army you say? That’s a bold claim, my lady, but do you have any proof that it’s not just words on the wind? Considering what the Lannisters will do to House Frey if the fighting goes against us, I’m not going to jeopardise my family’s position without a very good reason.”

Alyssa smiled.  “Of course Lord Walder. I would never ask you to risk House Frey on my word alone, and if I may have permission to draw a sword in your hall, then proof you shall have.” 

Walder Frey frowned, and gestured to a group of guards nearby, who stepped forward, spears raised but not pointed at her. “You have it, but don’t try anything stupid, my lady, or my servants will be scrubbing blood out of my floor for weeks.”

Alyssa then took the sack she held, removed the helm inside and tossed it to the floor. The sound as it rolled along the floor of the great hall echoed through the Twins as the room had gone silent at the sight of the distinct lion’s head helm. “This is Jaime Lannister’s helm, recovered from the battlefield and this” the sound echoed through the hall as she threw back her cloak and drew Bloodclaw. “Is the sword we took from him when he was captured, I take it you recognise it my lord?” Walder Frey was stunned into silence at the sight of the crimson Valyrian steel blade.  

Ser Stevron broke the silence in his father’s place. “There’s no way...even if the Kingslayer fled and left his helm behind, he’d rather die than let that sword leave his hands. ... Seven fucking hells. You really did it. You really defeated Jaime fucking Lannister.” His heir’s intervention had given Lord Walder the few seconds to regain his wits, and now his voice filled the air once more.

“Captured the Kingslayer, did you? Heh. How, may I ask, did you do that?” Alyssa explained her preparations and told of the battle, and when she was finished, there was more than one wide eye in the great hall of the Twins. Lord Walder was the first to recover. “So the old Blackfish still has a few fights left in him? Heh. That was well done, my lady, although you did have a decent slice of luck on your side. And what, pray tell, do you mean to do with my swords if I should give them to you?”The hall began to explode with sound again, but Lord Walder raised his hands for quiet, and the noise settled.

Alyssa nodded. “Do you have a map, my lord?” Lord Walder snapped his fingers, and one of his sons ran off and arrived shortly after with the same map Alyssa had in her quarters, albeit without the annotations. 

As the map was unrolled, she explained her plan, all the present Freys watching silently. At length, Lord Walder broke the silence, glancing at his eldest son, a man of nearly sixty namedays himself. “Stevron, you’re the one who’d be leading the boys, I am far past marching. Is this plan of hers sound?”

Ser Stevron Frey took a quill and traced the route she’d indicated, scribbling numbers in the margins. “Fourteen thousand you said?” he asked, glancing to Alyssa. Upon receiving an answering nod, he noted something down. “And you have seven thousand left at Riverhold?” Another nod was his answer, and he muttered to himself for a few seconds as he added figures.

“Three thousand Mallisters, seven thousand Tullys and our four thousand make fourteen thousand. That equals Lord Tywin’s force by itself right there. Vypren and Roote can call three thousand between them, if she could get even half of that, she’d have over a thousand men more than him.”

Ser Stevron set down his quill, steepling his fingers together in thought.

“It’s certainly possible, Father, but unlike Riverhold, he not only has the defensive position, and will have had weeks to prepare. The question therefore Lady Alyssa is, can you manage another victory like Riverhold on Lord Tywin’s terms, not yours?”

Lord Walder’s spotted brow furrowed in thought. “How many men did you lose at Riverhold, Lady Alyssa?”

Alyssa grinned. “Fifteen hundred, my lord, and the Lannisters lost seventeen thousand.” Even Ser Stevron gasped at that, though he tried to hide it, and did so mostly well. Lord Walder rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and Alyssa knew she needed another push to help him decide.

“Lord Walder, let me be blunt here. Whether you were late to the Trident by accident or because you wished it so, only you truly know. True or not, you and my father have never thought well of one another. But you are both not your Houses, and soon the Stranger will have you both. Once you and my father pass away, it will be Ser Stevron and my brother speaking for our respective Houses, it would be beneficial for them to have a closer relationship than you and my father did.”

Lord Walder tilted his head to the side in interest as she continued on. ”This is why part of my plan is to heal the breach between Houses Tully and Frey with a marriage. When we achieve victory, my brother will be beholden to those who have rescued him. That would be a fine time to request to join our houses, would it not, my lord?” 

Walder Frey narrowed his eyes, all pretence of amusement gone. “What are you offering, and what do you want?”

Alyssa took a breath, this was all or nothing right now. “I want your swords, but more importantly I want House Frey to return what it was and should be, Riverrun’s most powerful and loyal bannerman. You will send your men whenever my father, or brother, or their heirs call for it, and in exchange you will receive pride of place in the order of march, and whenever a Tully needs to wed, yours will be the first considered for potential brides or grooms. I want to end this lip service of loyalty and trust on both sides, and return our relationship to what it was before the Trident, a Great House and their most powerful ally, working together to ensure the safety of the Riverlands.”

Lord Frey’s eyes lit with cunning and greed. “And what of yourself? You’re marrying off your brother, does that mean you’ll be taking one of my sons as well?” With near super-human effort, Alyssa managed to control her reaction to that as Lord Walder grinned. “After all, old Hoster demanded two brides in exchange for his support of Robert, what kind of bannerman would I be if I didn’t follow his example?”

Alyssa’s first reaction was to refuse. She had been taught nearly from birth not to endanger House Tully, that was after all, the very reason she existed. Having Edmure marry a Frey wasn’t so bad, if anything happened to her brother, the lords of the Riverlands would likely rally to support Alyssa’s claim over a Frey’s if Lord Walder tried to claim Riverrun that way. 

However, having Freys tied to both branches of House Tully, left the very real possibility of a Frey power grab. If something happened to Edmure and Alyssa in that situation, it would be Edmure’s Frey wife and Alyssa’s Frey husband, against the claims of Catelyn and Lysa’s children, and only the gods knew how that would end.

That said, a flat refusal was also not an option; Alyssa needed Lord Walder’s men to free Riverrun, and offending him would ensure that did not happen. With that in mind, Alyssa decided to take a less direct course, with what Brynden had once called “lying without lying”.

“I regret, my lord” she said, smiling as sweetly as she could, “that the oath I swore to my lord father as a girl still holds true. I am forbidden to wed without his consent, and as he is currently trapped in Riverrun and unable to reply to ravens, that consent is not like to be coming any time soon.”

It was true enough, Hoster had extracted such an oath from her as the price of his good treatment, but she was forbidden only to wed without his personal permission, not to be betrothed. As Lord Walder did not need to know that, however, she continued on with her other argument.

“And while my lord father did wed off my sisters in exchange for House Tully’s support of the rebellion, he gave ten thousand swords along with his two daughters. One marriage then, should be sufficient for four thousand and a bridge crossing, especially if that marriage is the heir to Riverrun, would you not agree, my lord?” She looked him in the eyes, their gazes locking, but after a moment, Lord Walder seemed to realize that this was his best chance to see Frey blood on the high seat of Riverrun, and dropped his eyes. Alyssa seized the brief moment of weakness, and pressed home her offer.

“In exchange for your swords, I promise to do everything in my power to ensure that my brother marries one of your daughters, and to take one of your sons as my own personal squire, as well as two more of your sons as my wards at Riverhold if you so wish, as well as any of your daughters you might allow to come.” Alyssa then sheathed the Valyrian blade, strode forward and knelt in front of the shocked Lord Walder. 

“I am asking you, my lord. My brother is asking you. My sisters are asking you. My lord father and all of House Tully are asking you with my voice. Please. Join your power to ours, and together we will drive these fucking lions from the Riverlands!” She ended with a shout, panting from her dramatic conclusion to her plea, and she remained on her knees, looking at Lord Walder, while not a sound could be heard from the Freys assembled in the hall as they waited for the Lord of the Crossing to make his decision.

“Heh. Drive these fucking lions from the Riverlands?  All right. It would be good to see a grandson as Lord of Riverrun before I die. I wish I could see Old Tully’s face when he realises that the Late Lord Frey has just saved his sick old arse, but I guess you’ll just have to see it for me, Stevron.” He nodded to his eldest son. “Ready the men, we march at dawn tomorrow, and have the maester send a raven to Lord Vypren.” He turned to Alyssa. “Lord Lucias has always followed my lead, heh. If you show up at his keep with Frey men backing you and Mallisters camped next to his keep, he should give you all the help you want.”

He glanced at his maester as a thought struck him. “Oh yes, and prepare a raven for Riverhold, so Lady Alyssa can inform the Blackfish of her success.” The old man looked decades younger as he gestured for two of his sons to help him to his feet, so he could appear at least, to be standing proudly as he made his next statement. “The hospitality of the Twins and power of House Frey is yours, my lady, don’t let us down. It’s high time we Freys redeemed ourselves in the eyes of our fellow Riverlords and played our part in the defence of the Trident, and once more proved ourselves the loyal servant to the Tullys we are.”

Alyssa nodded firmly as she got to her feet. “I will not, Lord Walder. House Tully thanks you for your loyalty.”

Walder smirked. “Heh. Well now that the formal shit is over, while we’re waiting for Stevron to get things organized, Olyvar!” The last was a shout to a young man in the hall, who pushed his way forward until he was standing before Lord Walder. “This is my son, Olyvar. He’ll be serving as your personal squire.” Alyssa looked him over. Seventeen by his appearance, he had the look of one eager to serve. Loyal, too by the gleam in his eye.

“It will be a pleasure to have you along, Olyvar. May you do both our Houses proud.” 

Lord Walder nodded. “I expect he’ll be knighted at some point.”

Alyssa’s lips curved into a smile. “While I’m no knight myself, Lord Walder, I hope the name Brynden Tully is still thought of highly at the Twins.”

Lord Walder’s retort was halfway between a chuckle and a snort. “He’ll do.” He continued. “I’ll send two of my grandsons to your castle after the battle, when it’s safer, but if this plan to make your brother marry is going to work, whoever he’s marrying is going to have to be there on the spot.

Alyssa nodded in agreement. “I know Lord Walder, that’s why with all due respect, since a large portion of your family is already here, could you assemble my brother’s potential brides so you and I can select one who is most likely to catch my brother’s eye and make this plan work.”

Lord Walder jerked back in surprise. “Heh. And here I thought you’d suggest waiting until after the battle to do this.

Alyssa shook her head firmly. “Aside from the need to strike while the iron’s hot where my brother is concerned, I made a deal with House Frey on behalf of House Tully, and I mean to keep that deal, not dishonour us both by stalling and waiting to try and get out of it later.”

Walder Frey shook his head in wonder. “Hoster Tully’s bastard treats me with more respect than her father or his trueborn children ever did.” Alyssa shifted a little, uncomfortable with this line of conversation and seeing this, Lord Walder decided to spare her any more embarrassment, and simply pointed to the line of his daughters, who had entered while they were talking. “There they are, my lady, the daughters of House Frey. Let’s find one your brother can’t resist, shall we?” 

Alyssa began to walk among them, examining each one.  Her eyes lit upon a girl of sixteen or seventeen, delicate features, a small nose and brown hair that reached her waist. “What’s your name, my lady?”

The girl began to speak, but it was Lord Walder who answered. “Roslin, her mother was Bethany Rosby, my sixth wife. Got a gift for music, that one, and gentle too. You have a good eye, Lady Alyssa.” Alyssa nodded distractedly, and bent to speak to Roslin.

“Do you want to marry my brother, Lady Roslin?” Shyly, she nodded. Alyssa looked at Lord Walder. “She’ll be riding with the army Lord Walder. You do know the risks, don’t you?” 

Grimly, Lord Walder nodded his head. “I trust you to keep my daughter safe, my lady.”

Alyssa straightened up. “Well then, I think Edmure will just love her.”

Walder Frey chuckled. “That he will, that he will. Alright, Roslin, go pack your things. Make sure to dress in your oldest clothes for the journey, it will be a long, muddy ride, but pack your nice clothes well. All the rest of you, clear off. Go on, out, out, Lady Alyssa and I have preparations to make if she plans to leave tomorrow.” Lord Walder’s sons and daughters and grandsons and granddaughters and bastards and grandbastards trooped from the hall, and soon only Lord Walder, Alyssa, Olyvar and Roslin remained. Alyssa cocked her head to the side as she noticed something. “Lady Roslin, you and Olyvar appear alike, are you two related more than just being in the same House?”

Roslin nodded. “Yes, my lady, Olyvar is my brother.”

Alyssa rolled her eyes. “Lady Roslin, first, forget the “my lady”. You’ll be my sister-in-law soon, it’s just Alyssa. Secondly, well I didn’t expect that, but I suppose it’s good that you two won’t be separated for some time, as I‘ll probably be staying at Riverrun for a time after the battle while we plan the next stage of the war.”

Olyvar nodded eagerly. “We’ll teach those Lannisters not to set foot onto OUR lands again any time soon.” Alyssa smiled at the young man’s enthusiasm, and just then both Ser Stevron and Maester Bennett entered, the maester holding two scrolls in his hands. Recognizing the importance of the messages, Ser Stevron stepped aside and allowed the maester to enter first. He placed the scrolls before Alyssa and Lord Walder, and she glanced at them. 

One was a message to Lord Lucias Vypren, commanding him to call his strength and prepare to march with them when they arrived, while the other was to her uncle, informing him of the success of her mission. A pot of ink and a quill were set before her, and Alyssa signed both scrolls, before moving aside so Lord Walder could do the same thing. A pot of blue sealing wax was then brought forth, and Alyssa sealed them both with the dolphin of Riverhold. The maester took them to the tower, where he sent them with his best wishes to the birds. Once the maester had left, Ser Stevron moved forward. “Lady Alyssa, Father. The forces of House Frey are assembled and ready to march at dawn tomorrow, save four hundred that will remain to hold the Twins.”

Lord Walder smiled. “Well done, Stevron.  At sunrise tomorrow, we march to save Riverrun. In the meantime, my lady, House Frey has spare chambers if you wish a few hours rest before you leave.” Alyssa smiled gratefully, until that moment she hadn’t quite realized how tired she was, but now that the adrenaline from riding and negotiating had drained out of her, a wave of fatigue swept over her as the events of the past few days had finally caught up with her. “Thank you Lord Walder, that would be most kind. It was a long, hard ride to get here.”

Ser Stevron raised an eyebrow curiously. “How long have you been riding for, my lady?”

Alyssa groaned as she stretched. “We left Riverhold seven days ago, Ser Stevron, but most of the first day was spent swimming our horses across the Tumblestone and rafting our arms and armor across, and the last four were riding here from Fairmarket”

He was shocked. “Four days from Fairmarket to the Twins, you must have ridden like demons”.

Alyssa nodded, exhausted. ”Two horses each, changed every ten miles. Slept four hours each day.”

Lord Walder laughed. “Heh. No wonder you looked ready to eat a horse when you arrived. Good for us both you did, now we’ll be in time to save that brother of yours. Now go, get some sleep. You’ll be leaving in a few hours, and you look ready to fall over on my floor, Lady Tully.” Thanking Lord Walder, and leaning on Olyvar and Roslin, who moved to support her as she stumbled, she moved off towards the guest chambers, ready to drop but satisfied of what she had achieved. 


	20. The Kingsroad

They moved off just after dawn; Lord Walder pressing a dry kiss to her hand, and then they were on the move, the slow march of an army on the move. Lord Walder had been as good as his word, and had provided not only three thousand men and a thousand knights, but wagons, supplies, fodder, horses, siege engines and whatever else an army could possibly need. 

To begin this journey, they had spent a day getting twenty men and forty horses across the narrow, fast running Tumblestone. They spent the same day bringing four thousand men and thousands of horses across the Twins, along with their lengthy supply train. The second day of their journey here, they had made it halfway from Riverrun to Seagard, camping in the ruins of Oldstones. They spent the next eight days travelling from the Twins to the Kingsroad, making camp just off the road.  The ninth day, and for days after, they were slowly moving down the Kingsroad, a snail’s pace compared to the gallop Alyssa was used to. The swollen Green Fork rushed downstream, a complete contrast to the pace of the Tully host.

Fifteen days down the Kingsroad, they reached the keep of House Vypren. Lord Jonos’ lip curved, and inwardly, Alyssa agreed with that sentiment.

_ Now I know why Lord Walder said Lord Vypren follows the lead of the Twins. If the Freys chose to, they could crush the Vyprens within days. _

While House Vypren was a Noble House, and more importantly, what Alyssa called a primary Noble House, meaning they had smaller Noble Houses as bannermen and owed allegiance only to Riverrun, they were the smallest of Riverrun’s bannermen. While they controlled a portion of the Kingsroad, and their lands were sizable, they were not wealthy lands. House Vypren’s keep was built between the Blue and Green Forks on the western edge of their territory, creating a solidly defensible location, but making it a poor position when it came to controlling those lands. Bandits readily roamed the area, riding off whenever Lord Lucias finally got his forces over the river to engage them. 

Along this part of the Green Fork, the land was still swampy as the waters flowing from the Neck that gave the Green Fork its name fed the river, making it difficult to grow much on the land between the rivers themselves. The rest of their lands stretched from the east bank of the Green Fork to the Mountains of the Moon, but much of that was rocky hills leading up to the mountains, making it again a poor choice for growing crops or settling farmers. As for the Kingsroad itself, while it did bring much needed income to the House, it also cut like a knife through the centre of their land, reducing the area House Vypren could farm yet further.

Only two small noble houses called the Vyprens their lords, and less than ten Knightly houses. The only thing House Vypren had to its advantage was the position of their keep, making them nearly impossible to assail. The Blue Fork was a fast river, the current making it almost impossible to send an army across from that side, however this far south, the Green Fork slowed and became a green finger that lazily wound its way downstream. While slower, the river was wide, and any trying to cross by raft or boat would be exposed for minutes to the defences of the Vyprens; who knowing this, had positioned nearly all their scorpions and catapults on that side of the keep. The one weakness in the Vypren position was the Twins. 

The Blue Fork could be crossed by a wooden bridge at Fairmarket, however the other side of that bridge was in Vypren land, and Lord Lucias always kept it well-guarded. The Blue Fork could also be marched around, a long process involving weeks of travel through swamps, bogs and mud. Even if the Mallisters didn’t smash you as you passed Seagard, the Vyprens would have all the warning they needed to call their banners and set their defensive lines, making taking the castle a bloody business. To the west, however, the Green Fork was a different matter. Commanded by a bridge not in House Vypren’s control, the Twins allowed easy access to their lands presenting a danger that the Vyprens could not defend against, and they knew it. Lord Walder was not jesting when he said that Lord Vypren followed his lead, both Freys and Vyprens knew the situation very well, that the Vyprens had to keep the Lord of the Crossing sweet lest he allow their enemies to fall on their rear undetected.

In the centre of the two rivers, where they pinched so close together they nearly touched, Greenwater Bound rose from the green waters. Whether the Vyprens chose the toad as their sigil due to its resemblance of their castle or designed their castle after their sigil, Alyssa honestly could not say, but it was clear the two matched perfectly.  The “legs” of the toad were the castle’s supports, two on each bank, each one protected by a “fort”, really just ramparts protecting the Vypren watchmen while they manned the four mounted scorpions, each one poking out at different angles. They connected to the “body”, a squat construction of black granite housing the Vyprens and their household, a small castle even by Riverlands standards, half the size of Pinkmaiden and only a third of Riverrun. Built on a wide bed of white marble, the keep was nearly impervious to tunneling. 

On the toad’s back, countless scorpions and catapults were ranged at the east bank, the Vyprens depending on the speed of the Blue Fork to keep threats from the west at bay.  Archers lined the roof on both sides, and the “head”, a triangular platform lined with stones and cauldrons of soon to be boiling oil jutting out over the gate. It extended twenty feet from the walls, the murder holes dotting it allowing the Vyprens to slaughter anyone who approached without their leave long before they could even reach the gate.  The banners of House Vypren, a black toad crouching on a white lilypad on a green field, flew from every wall and rampart. 

While the castle resembled a toad already, sometime the last few hundred years, an ambitious Lord Vypren had attempted to mimic Casterly Rock by carving the castle to resemble their sigil in truth. The attempt at carving eyes into the overlook, a back into the keep and making the scorpion emplacements seem like toes had failed dismally; the whole castle resembled something a child enamoured with toads might create. 

On the western bank, eagle banners flew, many and proudly over the head of thousands of men in purple surcoats. Lord Jason had come through, and had surrounded the western flank of the castle with his levies, ready to storm the walls at a moment’s notice should things go awry. 

Across the river, the eastern bank was covered with Lord Vypren’s own forces; hundreds of men in green surcoats displaying the black toad on white of Greenwater Bound. The sight drew a quiet smile to Alyssa’s lips. Her plan had worked perfectly; the sight of Lord Mallister making camp across from his seat had forced Lord Vypren to muster his own men to counter the power of Seagard, just as Alyssa had intended. Now, rather than waiting precious days for Lord Lucias to gather his forces before they marched, the men of Greenwater could be on the road within the day as long as their Lord cooperated.

  
  
  
  
  


Alyssa held up her hand, and the column halted.

_ While the Vyprens present a frightening image, in reality they have nearly total control of the lands near their castle, but lack the strength to control any of their lands past the Green Fork, let alone attack a neighbour. Were it not for Lord Walder’s friendship and my lord father’s protection, the Freys, Wayns, Rootes or Blackwoods would have cut deeply into their lands or even wiped them out years ago. _

She turned to her messenger, a slim young man with the red stallion of Bracken on his surcoat. “We’ll set up camp here for the night. My compliments to Lord Jonos Bracken and Ser Stevron Frey, and once they have their men’s camps organised, I would see them in my tent. Send a rider to Lord Jason Mallister as well, asking him to join us.”

The messenger bowed and raced off, while Alyssa moved her attention to the task of setting up her camp and making it ready for guests. Minutes passed before the messenger entered alone. “Lords Mallister and Bracken, and Ser Frey, my lady.” He slipped out of sight as the aforementioned men entered, bowing as they did so, Bracken deeper than Mallister, and Mallister deeper than Frey.

She bowed in response. “My lords. As I know almost nothing of Lord Vypren save what others have told me, I would be honoured if you would accompany me when I speak with Lord Vypren.”

“It would be our honour, my lady” Lord Jason said, with a glance to the others.

Alyssa gestured to the tent’s entrance. “Shall we then, my lords?” Leading the way out, she took up a Tully banner and waved it at the walls. Her signal was answered by the wave of a Vypren banner from the walls, and soon a boat was launched from the walls, two Vypren armsmen in the bow along with an older man in a fine tunic. Ser Stevron leaned close to Alyssa’s ear. 

“Ser Matthis Vypren. Lord Vypren’s younger brother and steward of the castle.”

Alyssa nodded briefly in acknowledgement and then returned her attention to the river as the boat bumped into the bank. The rowers dug their oars deep to hold the boat still as Ser Matthis and the armsmen disembarked. The older man looked disdainfully at Alyssa, before turning to Ser Stevron with a smile.

“Ser Stevron. Greetings. A Frey is always welcome in our hall, but my lord brother has sent me to ascertain the purpose of those who follow you, and to ask Lord Mallister to proclaim his intent as to why a host of armed men is on our lands, threatening our seat.”

Frustrated at being ignored, Alyssa pushed forward. “Excuse me, Ser Matthis. I am Alyssa Tully, Lady of Riverhold and  **I** command this host. We would speak with Lord Vypren.”

Ser Matthis laughed. “And why would my lord brother want to speak with you? Lord Hoster may have legitimised you, and made you Warden of the Western Hills, but you have no authority over House Vypren. Clearly, your new position has gone to your head, and given you ideas beyond your station. Your father is Lord of the Riverlands, and his brother after him. Your father is ill, and from what we hear, your brother is surrounded by lions and in no position to give orders.”

Alyssa felt eyes upon her, both of Vypren men and her own host.

_ They weren’t with me at Riverhold. This will be my first true test in their eyes. If I handle this badly, the next morning half my host will have melted away. _

Rage burned through her, hot and fierce at this little man’s disrespect for her family, and the vehemence of her response surprised even her. “Whether or not you owe me allegiance, I am a noble, accompanied by two other high lords of the Riverlands, and the heir to another.  By virtue of our rank if nothing else, custom dictates Lord Vypren host us in his hall, or is House Vypren so lost to courtesy as for its Lord to snub his fellow Lords and Ladies, and four powerful Houses at that?”

Ser Vypren glowered at her for moments, while she started into his eyes, undaunted. At length, he snorted. “All right, my lady” he spat disrespectfully, clearly unwilling to grant her that title, “I suppose you are correct. For guests of your rank, it is up to my lord brother to grant or deny you an audience.” He gestured, and the armsmen stepped back into the boat. “After you, my lords.”

Alyssa fumed at the deliberate snub, but before she could react, Lord Jason held out a gauntleted hand to stop Lord Jonos boarding. “Ladies first, my lord” the Lord of Seagard said firmly. With a grateful smile to Lord Jason, Alyssa boarded, followed by Ser Stevron, Lord Jonos and Lord Jason, with Ser Vypren climbing in last. He gave a command and the rowers dug their oars into the mud again, this time with more effort as the boat was much heavier, hoisting it off the bank and out into the river again. 

As they bent to their oars, the boat rocked and Alyssa looked around nervously. Sharp-eyed, Ser Vypren missed nothing. “Nervous, my lady?” he said with a smirk. “I thought fish and dolphins were born to swim.” In lieu of replying, Alyssa gripped the side of the boat, attempting to halt its rock.

_ I can swim perfectly well, but all of the lords are wearing plate and mail. While I can pull off my ringmail easily, if any of the others go into the water their armor will take them straight to the bottom. _

Smirking cruelly again, Ser Matthis turned back to the rowers, and with a few words the pace slowed and the boat’s sway stopped. No more words were said as the boat glided across the river, Alyssa staring silently at the murky green water.

_ If matters go ill for us and Lord Vypren betrays us, it could be years if our bodies are found in this. _

A bump jolted her from her thoughts, and she looked up to see Greenwater Bound’s “dock”, some Lord had carved the bed of white marble the castle was situated on into the vague shape of a lily pad, and then removed a segment. The missing wedge, whether by intention or by chance, was the perfect size to moor a boat, and Ser Matthis jumped out, quickly running a rope around a pole to hold the boat in place. Lord Mallister stepped out first, followed quickly by the others, before he offered a hand to Alyssa, his strong arm grasping her and pulling her up out of the boat. The armsmen got out last, falling silently into position behind them. The rowers began to make the boat fast with ropes, and Ser Matthis led the way along the dock. 

When they stopped, Alyssa looked up to see that they were standing in front of the castle, near the edge of the dock. The Vyprens had evidently taken inspiration from Riverrun at some point, and a new branch of the Green Fork had been dug to form part of a moat; blocking all access to the castle from the south. Ser Matthis signalled to someone on the wall, and soon a portion of the frog’s belly seemed to fall outward, forming a drawbridge across the moat and revealing the entrance to House Vypren’s keep. As they travelled under the toad’s head, Alyssa found herself cringing, expecting a shower of boiling oil or arrows at any moment, but the portcullis rose and they entered Greenwater Bound without issue.

Ser Matthis strode under the portcullis and led the way down a short hall, lined with portraits of previous members of House Vypren,  before he reached a thick wooden door. He knocked twice, and the door opened slightly. He muttered something to whoever was behind the door, and it closed briefly before opening, allowing access to the Vyprens Great Hall. Ser Matthis walked through and stopped. “My lord brother will see you in the hall”. He looked Alyssa in the eye and his mouth curled. “Choose your words carefully, my lords. He is not as forgiving as I am.” Having said his piece, he stepped to the side of the door and allowed them to enter. “My lord. You have guests.” Having said this, he stepped to the side, taking up a defensive posture beside the door, hand on sword hilt. Nervously, Alyssa moved forward, flanked by her allies.

The high seat of the Vyprens was a massive chair of dark wood, the arms carved to resemble the legs of a toad, while its gaping mouth arced over the head of the man sitting there. He looked up as they entered, and Alyssa got her first look at Lord Lucias Vypren.  A man of nearly fifty, with small eyes, a pointed beard and thin mouth. He wore no armour or weapon, but an ornate longsword with a jewelled hilt rested in its scabbard against his chair. The hall was carved from the same black stone as the castle, and in the flickering light of the torches, shadows seemed to dance around Lord Lucias as he sat. His head inclined in a shallow, mocking bow. “Lady Alyssa, what brings you and such august companions to Greenwater Bound?”

Alyssa bowed in return, eyes never leaving his. “Lord Lucias. I’ve come to call you to war.  It’s time for House Vypren to honour its oaths, and do its part in scouring the Lannister invaders from our lands.

Lord Lucias’ resemblance to his brother was never more clear than when he was mocking you; his lips curved in an almost amused smile.

“Honour my oaths? I swore vows not only to House Tully, my lady, but to the Crown as well, and there was a raven from King’s Landing with news rather unfortunate for you. Lord Eddard Stark has been arrested as a traitor, and by warring with the Lannisters, you are indirectly aiding him, which, my lady, is treason. House Vypren are loyal subjects to King Joffrey, and aiding House Tully in breaking the King’s Peace would be treason against His Grace.”

Doggedly, Alyssa pressed on. “Treason or not, the law is clear. House Tully are the Lords Paramount of the Trident, and Greenwater Bound is sworn to Riverrun, not the Iron Throne. Until his Grace King Joffrey sees fit to change that, House Vypren are bannermen to House Tully, bound to answer when called upon. In my lord father’s name, I call upon you to answer House Vypren’s obligation and add your men to our cause.”

Lord Lucias’ smile, if anything, grew wider. “And why would I do that?”

Alyssa couldn’t believe her ears. “The Lannisters burn our lands, kill our people and destroy our homes. Do you not care, Lord Vypren?”

His face set into a cruel snarl, his amused smile gone. “They burn your lands and people” he snarled, “not mine. I care for stopping mine from feeling fire and sword, and keeping my men on my own lands has ensured that. Just consider the fates of those who fought the Lannisters. Pinkmaiden, lost. Stone Hedge, lost. Riverhold, burned and lost. Riverrun, under siege, the army shattered. Look at you all. 

You think of House Vypren as a pathetic House, not worth your time, but you flee to my castle now because due to your actions, your own seats are lost. Lord Mallister, fleeing after Lord Tywin smashed your fool brother’s army, and the rest of you demand an audience with rank you no longer possess, with your seats in Lannister hands, your titles were lost with them. I should have you thrown from my hall for your insolence; I will not risk my people, my lands for a doomed cause, the Lannisters cannot be beaten.” He drew himself up in his chair, chin raised defiantly, belying his next words. “Greenwater Bound declares itself neutral in this matter, House Vypren will not risk defying the Crown.”

Alyssa was trembling with rage at this point, her face white and every muscle in her body screaming for her to draw her blade and slash this treacherous coward’s head from his shoulders. “That is not your choice to make. Greenwater Bound is bound to answer when called upon.”

Lord Lucias raised an eyebrow. “And I suppose you mean to call me? Only the Lord of Riverrun can command me, or in his absence, his heir, Ser Edmure.”

Alyssa gritted her teeth in frustration, and could have sworn she felt one crack. “My lord, you know full well that my lord father is too sick to command, and my brother is besieged in Riverrun and unable to command. My eldest sister is in the North, the younger in the Vale; in the absence of my father and brother,  **I** command in their name.”

Lord Vypren flicked his hand, as if her argument was an annoying insect he could shoo away. “True, I swore oaths to Riverrun, and Lord Hoster as Lord of Riverrun. Ser Edmure is his lawful heir, and I  **do** recognise his right to command in Lord Hoster’s illness. However, you are Lord Hoster’s younger daughter, and your authority as Warden allows you only to call Piper and the Vances to arms. For all I know, you could be attempting to usurp your lord father’s seat. I have had no word from Ser Edmure granting you the authority to command your lord father’s bannermen, and until I do, House Vypren will not risk treason against both House Tully and the Crown.”

Alyssa didn’t quite shout, but it was a near thing. “The Lannisters have Riverrun under siege. It is ringed in iron, and any birds, whether coming or going, are intercepted and shot down. Edmure has no way to communicate.” 

“Under siege, because your fool brother scattered his army and lost his battle” Lord Vypren said, his disdain obvious. “Ser Stevron, go back to the Twins. Lord Jason, run back to Seagard. Tully, Bracken, go home, go home and try to retake your castles. I will be here, in mine.”

Alyssa blew out a long breath, attempting, mostly futilely, to calm herself, while Lord Jason took an unnoticed step forward, hand brushing her arm ready to restrain her should she attack Lord Vypren. They had no guest right here yet, and to do so would mean all their deaths. Shaking off Lord Jason’s loose grip, she stepped back. “I fear you are the one misinformed, Lord Vypren. I remain Lady of Riverhold, and it will not fall anytime soon.”

“Are you seriously attempting to convince me that you defeated the Kingslayer?” Lord Vypren asked, incredulously. “Do you have any proof of this?”

Alyssa smirked.  _ Oh yes, my lord, I have proof for you, and a surprise. _

“If you wish to see proof my lord, then proof you shall have, although you may not like what you see.”

A hand flicked again. “If you somehow did defeat Jaime Lannister, I can assure you, no proof you have would displease me. Show me this proof, my lady, or be known as a liar.”

Alyssa’s smirk turned into a full grin, reminiscent of a shark. She stepped away from the others, and moved her hand to the hem of her cloak, winking at Ser Stevron as she did so. The motion spurred something in Ser Stevron’s memory, and his eyes widened as he grabbed for her arm. He was nowhere near fast enough. In one smooth motion, she flung back her cloak and drew her sword.

In an instant, the Vypren armsmen reacted, raising their spears or standing protectively in front of Lord Lucias, shields held high. Just as Lord Bracken was cursing and reaching for his own broadsword, Alyssa held the blade aloft, the crimson steel catching the torchlight, sending an eerie blood-red glow over the walls. Lord Vypren raised his voice. “Hold, hold” he shouted, eyes scrutinising the weapon carefully. “What sword is that?”

Alyssa slammed the blade into the stone floor so that he could clearly see the golden hilt. “This, my lord, this is Bloodclaw, the Valyrian steel blade of House Lannister. The Kingslayer has no need for it in my dungeon.” From his place by the door, Ser Matthis swore under his breath. Abruptly, Alyssa yanked the sword free and shook her head. “Enough. You refuse to answer my call, as representative of my lord father. So be it. Stay here, for  _ now _ **.** But know this, Lord Vypren, once I have smashed the father as I smashed the son, when the war is won we will march east, root you out of your keep and hang you in a crow’s cage along with all your House as oathbreakers.” Her lips drew back, showing a hint of her teeth as she drove her spear home. “And I guarantee you my lord, such venture would have the full support of Riverhold.”

Lord Jonos, sword forgotten, growled out his agreement. “Aye, and Stone Hedge too! To get rid of scum such as yourself, I’d even ally with  _ Blackwood _ .”

Even Lord Mallister appeared shocked at that, though the older Lord quickly regained his composure. “You will have the strength of Seagard too, should it come to that, my lady.”

Almost desperately, Lord Lucias’ eyes flicked to Ser Stevron, who seemed indecisive for a moment, before setting his jaw. “You heard Lady Alyssa, my lord, do you really believe my lord father will choose to fight half the Riverlands for  _ you? _ ” He shook his head disdainfully. “That doesn’t even account for the fact that House Frey stands to gain substantial lands should your House be brought low, you should know Father well enough to realize you mean nothing to him in the face of gains like that.” Ser Stevron shook his head slowly in the face of Lord Lucias’ pleading eyes. “I’m sorry, my lord, but as heir to the Crossing, I speak for my lord father in this matter, and the Crossing stands with Riverrun, and with House Tully.”

Smiling gratefully to the two lords and heir who had voiced their support for her family, Alyssa’s smile dropped as she addressed Lord Lucias. “Farewell, Lord Vypren.” Her face was set as she slammed Bloodclaw back into its scabbard. “I won’t say it was a pleasure, but I will say that we leave you in peace, for now.” 

She turned to leave, and as she made for the door, a panicked shout broke out from behind her. “Wait!” Alyssa spun to see Lord Lucias standing up from the high seat of the Vyprens, worry written on his face plain as day. “Wait, my lady. Perhaps we were too hasty in denying our liege lord’s call. As Lord Hoster’s representative, what would you ask of House Vypren?”

_ House Vypren are weaker than most of Father’s bannermen; unlike Ryger, Darry, Mooton or most of Father’s bannermen, they can only raise fifteen hundred men even if they add in green boys and old men. Unfortunately, even with my threats, there’s no way Lord Vypren would give us that many.  _ She thought quickly. “A thousand trained men; at least a quarter mounted including a hundred knights, to leave by first light tomorrow.”

Lord Vypren winced. “That can be done my lady, but it is nearly all of my trained men; to field that many so quickly I would have to strip my seat of all but my garrison.”

Alyssa’s face was unsympathetic. “That’s the price you pay for your disobedience, my lord.” Fighting to keep her face neutral, she stared calmly at Lord Vypren until finally, he made his decision.

“So be it.” His head bowed in defeat. “If that is the price of my actions, then I will pay it, to protect my people. That still leaves me three hundred men and my garrison, and I will start another muster immediately.”

Alyssa cocked her head to the side. “Will you be leading the Vypren men yourself, my lord?”

Lord Lucias nodded. “Despite what you think, my lady, I am no coward. I will lead our forces myself. My son and heir, Ser Damon, will remain to hold Greenwater Bound.”

“If Ser Damon is your heir, then don’t you think he could use some experience?” Alyssa pointed out. “Marching with the army might harden him for when he is Lord.”

Lord Lucias shook his head. “My son didn’t earn that knighthood for nothing. He has plenty of experience already.”

“I’m afraid you don’t understand my lord” Alyssa was blunt and to the point. “This is the final price of your actions. You will lead House Vypren’s men, and Ser Damon will ride with me.”

Lord Lucias’ eyes narrowed as he finally understood. “A hostage” he spat.

“No, an honoured guest, my lord”. Alyssa’s own eyes, usually resembling pools of deep water, were chips of ice. “Ser Damon shall be surrounded by my men, and protected as they would me. He will fight with us, and receive the glory and praise he earns for his actions. However, should your men quit the field or turn their cloaks, before I fall the last thing I will do is to take his head myself.”

Cold eyes stared into cold eyes. “That really isn’t necessary my lady, House Vypren is loyal. We would never betray you.”

Sweetly, Alyssa smiled. “Then you have no need to worry, Lord Lucias.”

Lord Vypren nodded grudgingly. “Matthis, while Damon and I are in the field, Greenwater Bound is yours.” He turned to Alyssa. “May I offer you the hospitality of my hall? You can rest here for the night, before we march.” He rang for a servant, and soon a man appeared, carrying a tray of bread and a dish of salt. 

_ Bread and salt. Perfect, once we are protected by guest right, not even Lord Vypren will dare harm us. _

Satisfied with the outcome, Alyssa waited for the other lords to take food, before sprinkling some salt on her bread and biting off a hearty chunk.


	21. Lord Harroway's Town

Moving off the next day, the host a thousand men larger, they continued down the Kingsroad for another week, before they reached the keep of House Paege. House Paege were loyal bannermen to House Tully, which ironically was why Alyssa knew she’d find no help here. Ser Halmon Paege had answered Edmure’s call with nearly his full strength, and had paid dearly for it; his House’s forces destroyed and Ser Halmon himself a prisoner. The keep’s castellan, however, was willing to give what supplies he could spare, before they moved on.

House Paege’s lands were near the mouth of the Green Fork, another five days on the march brought them to the confluence of the Green and Blue Forks, and two days later they reached the point where the Red Fork joined the Green and Blue. Here, the three Forks flowed together to form the great river known as the Trident. House Roote controlled the ferry, and even if the Rootes had permitted them to cross, their host of close to eight thousand would have taken years to cross the river a few at a time. Fortunately, the Ruby Ford, where Robert won his crown, was near. Even through a shallow part of the river, it took all day to bring the Tully host across the Trident. As she rode through the waters, Alyssa resisted the temptation to jump from the saddle at the sight of every sparkle, knowing Rhaegar’s rubies had all been found years ago.

On the southern bank of the Trident, Lord Harroway’s Town nestled between the Kingsroad and the river. Once the holdings of House Harroway, after Maegor the Cruel wiped out every Harroway he could find the town was awarded to House Roote, wealthy merchants from the town who to this day still remained more merchants than lords. Having ignored Lord Hoster’s call all their armsmen, a solid power base, remained in Harroway, and the new Lord Roote did not intend to release it without persuasion.

“But my lady, if we give you the men you seek, Lord Harroway’s Town will be vulnerable to attack from the Lannisters.” Lord Vypren had been insulting and arrogant, the Paege castellan ashamed and remorseful, but the new Lord Roote, a green boy of twelve namedays elevated to Lordship of the town after his father’s death not long ago, was confident and charming. He gave a warm smile, sure that he could convince this woman into leaving empty-handed. “There have been Lannister raids in the area. Two thousand Lannister riders burned Castle Darry to the ground and put the household and garrison to the sword weeks ago.” He shook his head slowly, feigning regret. “We are not as powerful as many other Houses; I have only a thousand men, and if I give them to you and leave Harroway exposed, the same might happen to my town and my people.”

Alyssa’s expression was difficult to read. “If that is true, my lord, and if House Darry was wiped out, then House Roote may be granted a portion of Darry lands.  However, that does not change the fact that you are lying to me. Harroway’s walls are strong; against riders with no siege equipment a bare handful of men could defend these walls for weeks.  You have six hundred armsmen left, along with the garrison of Harroway Tower. You say the town will be left defenceless without them? Then I won’t take them  **all.** Two hundred armsmen, along with your garrison, should be sufficient to hold Harroway against two thousand. The rest can come with us. After all, if Harroway is truly threatened, the best way to protect it is to destroy the threat.”

The young Lord’s face fell at the failure of his scheme, before he set his jaw stubbornly. “And what if I refuse? You have the Lannisters to deal with, you can’t afford to get held here laying siege to my town. Besides, my maester taught me how strong our neighbours are; House Vypren can field more men than that, so why are you bothering me and not them?”

Alyssa’s eyes set in a way Lord Vypren recognized, and he thought to himself that it was far more amusing to watch someone other than him on the end of that icy stare.

“This is no game,  _ my lord _ ” she said, her disgust for this boy playing lord evident. “Lord Vypren tried to refuse at first, then I told him what I will now tell you; that if you refuse, then we shall march on the Lannisters regardless, and when we are done with them, we shall come for  _ you _ .” The boy recoiled at her intense stare, and he took a step back. Blowing out a breath in frustration, Alyssa continued on; “I didn’t have the time or equipment to try and force him into submission. Since he was willing to part with what I considered an acceptable amount of men, I decided to avoid the loss of lives that would come from storming Greenwater Bound and moved on. However” her lips drew back as she seemed to bare her teeth. “Lord Harroway’s Town is not Greenwater Bound. The river blocks your retreat rather than our attack, and the walls are smaller, and nowhere near as strong. If  **you** refuse, we will storm your town, bring down your tower and hang you from your own walls as an example to any of Riverrun’s other bannermen who might think to defy their liege lords.”

The boy staggered back a pace, before his face hardened into a stubborn look any parent would recognise. “No. I am the Lord of Harroway, and you will not command me in my own town. If you believe you have the right to command me, then single combat I say. Let the gods decide whether my cause is just.” Drawing a longsword from his back slowly, he gripped it in both hands as if it were a greatsword, because for him, it might as well have been. 

Alyssa chuckled, unable to stop herself, but Lord Jason gasped. Curiously, she turned her head towards him. “Lord Mallister?”

Gravely, he pointed to the sword. “That’s Lord Roote’s sword! I saw it years ago during the tourney at Harrenhal.”

Now curious, Alyssa looked at the blade more closely. The guard was two horse heads leaning out from the hilt, noses touching, while the pommel was worked in the shape of the two-headed horse of House Roote. She looked sharply at the boy. “Where did you get this?”

Defensively, he raised the blade. “I am the Lord of Harroway, this sword is mine by right. The symbol of my lordship.”

Alyssa smiled, amused at the idea of him challenging her. She stepped forward. “It may be the sword of the Lord of Harroway, but a blade like that needs a man to swing it, and you are yet a boy. Put the sword down, and muster your men.” She took another step forward, intending to take the sword from his hand, when he slashed the blade at her. She jumped back quickly, but not quickly enough, and a shallow cut ran across the back of her left hand. Lord Roote smiled in glee.

“First blood to me. I told you, this is a trial by combat. The gods will judge who is righteous here.”

Alyssa rolled her eyes.  _ I do not have time for this nonsense.  _ Her shortsword flashed from its scabbard as she moved forward to engage him. Lord Roote swung the blade in a clumsy downward chop. Effortlessly catching the sword with her own shorter weapon, she expertly twisted her wrist and sent the sword to the ground. He grabbed for it, and the toe of her boot slid it far beyond his reach.  “If this is a trial by combat, my lord, then the Seven have spoken, and found you guilty. Will you send us your men, or must I execute you now for treason against House Tully?” A cold streak of fear ran through his body, but with the point of her blade resting on his throat, the boy resisted the urge to gulp.

Lord Roote glanced to his sword, lying far beyond his reach, then to the point of the blade at his neck, then finally into Alyssa’s cold eyes, devoid of any mercy. Slowly, he raised his hands, stepped back and bowed at the waist, kneeling in the dirt. “Mercy, my lady, please don’t kill me. I yield. Harroway’s men are yours.”

With a smooth motion, Alyssa rotated her blade away him and sheathed it. She held out a hand, and the young lord took it. “Rise, my lord. Why would I harm one of Riverrun’s loyal bannermen?”

The emphasis left on the word “loyal”, left even the young Roote in no doubt of what was expected, and he nodded enthusiastically. “Of course, my lady, House Roote is faithful to House Tully.”

 

Alyssa smiled, although it did not reach her eyes. “Good to hear, my lord. We must march as soon as possible, so House Roote will supply six hundred men, to be ready to leave by tomorrow.”

 

The young lord gestured to a woman standing nearby, hair beginning to grey, dressed in a fine gown of rippled greens and brown. “This is Helaena Roote, Lady Regent of Lord Harroway’s Town and my lady mother.”

 

Alyssa bowed briefly. “Lady Roote.”

 

Lady Helaena’s eyes were hard, staring at the woman who had nearly killed her son. “Lady Tully.”

 

Alyssa’s eyes narrowed, noticing Lady Roote’s expression. “Your son pledged the support of Lord Harroway’s Town to our cause, my lady. Will you honour that?”

 

The older woman’s face was set. “And will you be taking my son as an “honoured guest” as you have Ser Damon?” She gave a disdainful snort. “We had a raven from Lord Lucias, my lady, I know my son will be a hostage.”

 

Angered, Alyssa opened her mouth to reply, then closed it again, scrutinising Lady Roote’s face carefully. There was anger there, and pride, but something else, a hint of ...fear? Yes, there was definitely fear there, and when the other woman’s eyes flicked to her son for a moment, Alyssa knew.

 

_ She fears I will take her son from her, and lead him to his death in battle. _

 

Alyssa shook her head, smiling now. “No, my lady. I see no reason that should be required. House Roote’s loyalty will be proven by the service of its men, as well as Harroway supplying our army.”

 

Now reassured that her son was not being forced to march to his death, Lady Helaena smiled back in gratitude. “We can do that easily and with a will, my lady.” Gathering her skirts, she sank to her knees, her son kneeling with her. “Lord Harroway’s Town is yours, my lady.” Taking Alyssa’s offered hand, she was pulled back to her feet.

 

Her son spoke up then. “So when you leave tomorrow, are you off to Riverrun to smash some Lannisters, Lady Tully?”

 

Briefly, Alyssa frowned. “That depends. I have been on the march for days, I know barely anything about recent events. Lord Roote, were you speaking truly when you said Castle Darry has been sacked, or were you exaggerating for a better bargaining position? How stands the local situation?”

 

Lady Helaena’s eyes were downcast. “My son spoke truth, my lady. It was the Mountain, with thousands behind him. They took the castle, killed everyone in there, including Lord Lyman, and burned it to the ground, stealing what they did not burn and wrecking what they could not burn.”

 

“Are you telling me that that House Darry is extinct?” Alyssa put her hand to her mouth in horror; “Lyman Darry was a boy of eight namedays, how could they do this?”

 

The Lady of Harroway’s eyes hardened into chips of steel. “Gregor Clegane is a monster that should have been put down long ago. There is nothing he would not do. I pray my lady, that you slay him during battle.”

 

Alyssa’s face was grim. “Should we encounter him or his band on the march, I promise you he will not survive the experience.” 

 

To Alyssa’s surprise, Lady Roote shook her head.  “I would dearly love to see that, my lady, but I fear it will not come to pass.” Her lips curved into a rueful smile. “The Mountain and his band rode back west after the atrocities at Darry nearly a week ago. By now he will have rejoined Lord Tywin, swelling his numbers. To reach him you must go through Lord Tywin’s army.”

 

“Blast” Alyssa growled. “What else can you tell me?”

 

Lady Helaena cocked her head. “Tywin Lannister took Pinkmaiden and Stone Hedge weeks ago, but I suppose you already knew that. After your lord brother’s…” she paused as she searched desperately for a way to avoid saying that her liege’s heir was a failure as a commander.

 

“After his tragic defeat, House Blackwood’s men died almost to a man to buy time for Ser Edmure and Lord Mallister to retreat. With their forces destroyed, Raventree Hall yielded easily when the Lannisters marched on it. It didn’t help matters that they were leaderless; Lord Tytos was captured at Riverrun.”

 

Despite knowing this was coming, Alyssa winced as if she were struck. “A blow, but not an unexpected one.”

 

Lady Helaena spread her hands. “That’s all I’ve heard, my lady.”

 

Alyssa nodded absently as she tried to reconcile the news she had heard with the situation. Try as she might, she found herself unable to visualise the Lannister forces currently.  _ I need a map.  _ When informed of Alyssa’s requirements, Lady Roote was more than happy to offer her solar to Alyssa and her lords. Her map was not as detailed about the Houses of the Red Fork as Alyssa’s, focusing mainly on House Roote’s bannermen as expected, but it did show the location of all major rivers, roads and castles. Alyssa bent over it, followed by her lords. Lady Roote was the first to speak. “My lady, what are you looking for?”

 

Thoughtfully, Alyssa’s finger traced the River Road, moving west from their current position until it reached Riverrun. She tapped the point where the river met the castle thoughtfully. “Not looking for, Lady Helaena. Looking at. I had originally planned to march down the River Road to Riverrun, cross the Red Fork and link up with my other forces from Riverhold, but now that I think on it, crossing that close to the Lannister army would be asking them to deny our crossing. That bank of the river is higher than ours, they would have the high ground, and the numbers. And since they hold Stone Hedge, they would receive word of our coming days before we arrived.”

 

Her tapping became more forceful. “We can’t march around the Red Fork, and no matter where we try to cross, Tywin can throw us back.” She shifted her gaze to Stone Hedge again. “If we tried to march around the hills and past Stone Hedge, not only would we take far longer, but we would still have to cross the river.” She blew out a long breath in frustration. “No matter where we go, to relieve Riverrun we must cross the Red Fork.”

 

Lady Helaena leaned forward thoughtfully. “If you cannot pass the river without Stone Hedge telling the Lannisters of your movements, my lady, then why not simply pass Stone Hedge? Travel south from Harroway, move around the hills and move south-west to Pinkmaiden and cross at the Mummer’s Ford there.”

 

Alyssa shook her head. ‘Would it were so simple, Lady Roote. That would take weeks, time Riverrun does not have.”

 

Lord Vypren studied the map with no emotion, before he shook his head. “It can’t be done, my lady. No matter where we go, there is no way to move this army to Riverrun undetected before it falls.”

 

All assembled hung their heads in despair for a moment, before the young Lord Roote pointed at Stone Hedge. “If Stone Hedge will be such a problem, then why don’t you remove it? March on the castle and take it back.”

 

Lord Vypren snorted, Lord Bracken sighed, Ser Stevron smiled good-naturedly and Lord Mallister shook his head sadly. “It is not that simple, my lord. Stone Hedge is one of the strongest castles in the Riverlands, and while we were laying our siege, Lannister reinforcements would strike us in the rear.”

 

“How?” As one, the assembled lords looked up to see Alyssa now intently staring at the map. “How would they strike us in the rear, Lord Jason? Just as the Red Fork blocks us from reaching Riverrun, it blocks the Lannisters from reaching us; if they tried to cross our outriders would warn us, and we could smash them as they forded the river like they would smash us.”

 

Lord Vypren was the first to speak after some moments. “My lady, are you honestly trying to tell us that you are seriously considering this? That castle is as close to impregnable as they come in the Riverlands, only Riverrun, the Twins,  Seagard, Riverhold or Harrenhal would be harder to take.”

 

Alyssa bowed her head, acknowledging the point. “True, even with the siege engines House Frey was good enough to supply us, to lay siege to Stone Hedge would take weeks and to storm it would cost thousands of lives.” She stroked her chin thoughtfully. “Lady Roote, how many men would you say hold Stone Hedge?”

 

“I...I’m not sure my lady.” Lady Helaena shook her head in confusion. “I heard tell of the battle from a survivor fleeing this way. He said perhaps eighteen thousand attacked Stone Hedge but I don’t know how many he left there.”

 

Alyssa glanced at Lord Bracken. “Lord Jonos, how many men did Tywin have at Riverrun?”

 

The Lord of Stone Hedge scratched his head. “I’d say sixteen thousand, mayhaps a few hundred more.”

 

Alyssa quickly did the sums in her head. “If we subtract sixteen thousand and roughly a few hundred from eighteen thousand, that leaves a few more than two thousand. How many did you leave to garrison Stone Hedge, Lord Jonos?”

 

“A hundred and twenty my lady.” His eyebrow rose in curiosity. “What are you thinking?”

 

“As you say, my lords, Stone Hedge is a strong castle. If he took it by storm, there’s no way he didn’t lose at least as many as your garrison, maybe more. Personally, I think he would have lost ten or twenty men for every one of Lord Bracken’s that fell, and he’d have to leave a garrison at Pinkmaiden as well, so I’d say a safe guess would be anywhere from two to three hundred men.”

 

Ser Damon, silent until now, spoke up. “My lady, it is a nice idea, but even with one hundred men, that castle could hold out for weeks. This is foolishness.”

 

Alyssa’s eyes lit up. “Maybe not. We have something no other attacker of that castle has had; someone who knows the castle and its defences intimately.” She turned to Lord Bracken, sadly listening as his hopes were dashed once more. “Lord Jonos, while I know such things are normally House secrets, if we are to have any hope of retaking your seat, now is the time. Is there a way, any way, that we might get into Stone Hedge? A secret passage, a weaker wall, an unused tower we could climb, anything?”

 

A shake of the head was her answer. “If there was, my lady, I would tell you, but there is nothing like that. If there ever was, it has been reinforced ever since.”

 

Alyssa’s jaw was set. “We have no choice then. We must retake Stone Hedge, so we will retake Stone Hedge. We have trebuchets, we have rams, we have scorpions. We have as many archers as they have men. We have over ten times their numbers. We can break the gates and storm the castle if we have to.” 

 

Normally calm, Lord Jason’s face was black as thunder.  “My lady, this is sheer folly. Stone Hedge could throw back attacks from a host twice our size for days.”

 

“I appreciate you wanting to retake my seat, my lady, but Lord Jason is right.” Lord Bracken’s head was in his hands, and he sighed in defeat. “If we attack Stone Hedge, all we will accomplish is mounds of our own dead. Too high a price to stop a few ravens.”

 

Alyssa jerked as if struck, and Lord Jason leaned towards her in concern, but her mind was already working frantically. It was as if Lord Jonos’ words had unlocked something in her head. 

 

_ Stop a few ravens. _

 

“Stop the ravens… of course.” Her eyes seemed to light up as if lanterns were behind them.

 

Lord Jason’s eyebrows rose in concern. “My lady, are you all right? We are in a sorry situation, that’s true.”

 

To the Lord of Seagard’s surprise, she was grinning. “Never better, my lord. I believe I may know what we must do.” She turned to Lord Bracken. “Lord Mallister, Lord Bracken, the two of you are the most experienced of us here. What is it that tells you how large a host is; how can you tell how many they are without counting them?”

 

“That depends, my lady.” Lord Jason appeared perplexed by her question. “If you mean a host in the field, their banners, depth and size of formation give a rough guide.”

 

“And a force not in the field, say, laying siege to a castle?” Alyssa pressed on, and the light of understanding began to dawn on the two men.

 

Lord Bracken was the first to react. “Banners, my lady, but in the main, cookfires.”

 

Lord Mallister nodded in agreement. “The number of fires it takes to feed a host can tell you much about how great their strength is, my lady, but I’m sure Ser Brynden taught you that years ago. Why do you ask that which you already know the answer to?”

 

Instead of responding, Alyssa addressed Lord Bracken. “Lord Jonos, you know Stone Hedge better than any here. How many men would it take to besiege it with, say five hundred occupying it?”

 

“Everything we have here, and perhaps more.” Lord Jonos shook his head regretfully. “I never thought I’d have cause to curse the strength of my seat until today, my lady.”

 

Her eyes now set, Alyssa nodded briefly. “Very well, then my plan is set, my lords. I know what we must do.” The assembled nobles leaned closer over the map, and she pointed at Stone Hedge. “We must stop the garrison at Stone Hedge from warning Tywin of our coming, but we have neither the men, nor the time to take or invest the castle. This is what we shall do. Lord Vypren” she addressed the older man. “If there ever was a time to speak truthfully to me, it is now. You dislike fighting, do you not?”

 

Lord Lucias’ nostrils flared. “It is no secret, my lady, that I prefer the comfort of my tent to the rigours of the march, and I have already asked forgiveness for my failings.” His fists clenched, but he looked up sharply at Alyssa’s next words.

 

“Have no fear, Lord Vypren, we all play our parts in the eyes of the Seven. You will be well suited for what I have in mind. Lady Helaena”; her next words were directed at the older Lady standing silently watching. “You pledged Lord Harroway’s Town to our cause, correct?”

 

“I did, my lady”. Lady Roote was hesitant, but pressed on. “But as my son said, if we give any more men to your cause, Harroway will be open to attack, and we don’t have enough left to make a difference. The only House left who could is Mooton.”

 

That suggestion was dismissed with a sharp jerk of Alyssa’s head. “Maidenpool is over two weeks march away, and Lord Mooton won’t give us his forces without an army at his gates. He must wait until after we have dealt with the Lannisters, then he will pay for his cowardice. But do not fear, Lady Helaena, it is not your soldiers I want, it is your supplies and your craftsmen.” A confused look from Lady Roote induced her to explain herself further. “How many tents and banners can Lord Harroway’s Town produce by dawn the day after tomorrow, if your people work through the night and day?”

 

The Lady of the town in question took a slate from the table and muttered to herself for a few moments while she added numbers. “If nearly everyone in town focuses on this, and we pay them extra to work hard and fast, eight hundred tents, each enough to house ten men, and mayhaps a hundred banners.” Feeling the need to voice a warning, she added “but at that speed, the quality will suffer, my lady.”

 

Alyssa waved this away with a flick of her hand. “As long as they look like they aren’t falling apart, that will suffice. Only a fifth of these, if that, will actually be used.” She moved her finger from Lord Harroway’s Town to Stone Hedge. “My lords, the day after tomorrow, we will march to Stone Hedge. There we will set up for a siege. No doubt the garrison there will send a raven to Lord Tywin screaming for help; telling him that nine thousand men now besiege Stone Hedge. Once our camp is set up, we will withdraw.”

 

Lord Vypren voiced the opinion of all present. “Withdraw, my lady? Are you mad?”

 

“No, my lord.” Alyssa’s face was set in determination. “We will withdraw, however you will remain, with two thousand men, a mixed force of pikemen, spearmen, cavalry and our best archers. Ser Damon will ride with us, to command the Vypren forces in your absence. 

 

Let me make myself very clear. You are not besieging Stone Hedge. You have two objectives you must succeed in. 

 

First, you are to prevent any communication with Lord Tywin. Our best four hundred bowmen will be with you, any raven coming or going is to be shot down, any rider leaving the castle must die. 

 

Secondly, you are to convince any scouts Lord Tywin might send that your camp is our full force. Light more cooking fires than you need, set up extra tents and have men walk around occasionally to fool watchers, send a shaft over the walls whenever you feel the need. 

 

You will have a large part of our supplies, and all of our siege engines, do whatever is required to sell this mummer’s farce. The Lannister outriders must believe that nine thousand men remain outside the walls. Do you understand what I ask of you, my lord?”

 

A fist slammed onto the table. “What’s the purpose of this farce, my lady? We weaken our force by nearly a quarter, and must still cross the river in any case. This is folly.” Lord Vypren’s patience had worn thin.

 

Unfortunately for him, so had Alyssa’s. “You will find out, my lord, when you sit and listen to the plan **.”** She took a deep breath. “With Stone Hedge under siege, Lord Tywin will be faced with a choice; allow his base to fall, or abandon his own siege and meet us in the field. Should he choose to do that, he would be abandoning his defences and chancing that Uncle Brynden will not leave Riverhold, cross the Red Fork and fall on his rear during his march here. I do not believe he will do that. Having heard that we were moving on Stone Hedge, he will expect us to continue down the road and fall on his eastern camp, before crossing the Red Fork to attack Riverrun.”

 

A savage grin split her face. “We will not play his game.” Her finger traced a path through the hills south of Stone Hedge. “I mean instead to head south through these hills, through the pass on the border of my own lands, before travelling west past High Heart, and crossing the Red Fork at the ford just south of Riverhold, then moving north to Riverhold. There we will link up with my uncle and the remainder of our forces, rest the men for a day and then march on the Lannisters as a united host.” She looked at Lady Roote, listening to the plan with bated breath. Now that you better understand what I ask, Lady Helaena, I will ask you again. Can Harroway supply what we need in time?”

 

Lady Roote shook her head doubtfully. “It’s possible, my lady, since they only have to fool inspection from a distance, the quality can be low, but still, we only have so many hands to sew the cloth.”

 

Alyssa frowned. “Then you will have more. Send the word out my lords, any man who knows even a semblance of what is required is to join the women and children of Harroway in stitching tents, as will I.” She looked up at the faces of her lords bannermen. “Your thoughts, my lords?”

 

“It’s ambitious my lady” Lord Lucias admitted; “but after the scheme that captured the Kingslayer, I should not be surprised. Though don’t think I can’t see what you’re doing” he pointed a finger at her accusingly. “You don’t trust me in the field, and you need a noble to command the siege. I’m the only one you feel you can spare, and my son is your hostage to ensure I don’t turn my cloak. If I betray you, you’ll take Damon’s head.” He blew out a long breath in frustration. “Though I shouldn’t be surprised, you told me plainly how things would be in my own hall. Have no fear, I’ll play my part. I won’t be responsible for the death of mine own son.”

 

Lord Jason merely studied the map for a moment, before looking her in the eyes and nodding once. “It should serve, my lady.”

 

Lady Roote glanced at her. “It seems a fine plan, but if you want to leave in two days, my lady, then we’d best get started.”

 

Alyssa tipped her head, acknowledging the point. “And so we shall, Lady Helaena. Are there any objections to this plan, my lords?”

 

Silent until now, weaselly faced Ser Stevron spoke up. “My lady, I must point out that if a raven gets past Lord Vypren, Lord Tywin’s men will be waiting for us at the ford, and they will deny us crossing, or make us force a crossing at a grievous price we can ill afford. Also, by weakening our host by two thousand, Lord Tywin will have twice our numbers.”

 

Silently, Alyssa bowed her head in response. “Yes, Ser Stevron. That is why we all must play our parts, and none must fail. Now, my lords, if there are no further objections, find anyone who knows even which end of a needle is which, and send them to Harroway.”


	22. Home and Hearth

Alyssa was as good as her word; seated with Lady Helaena and three hundred others in the town square, pushing needle through cloth and cursing when she stabbed her fingers. A hundred men had been found among the host who grudgingly admitted to having some skill with needle and thread, and by the light of every candle and lantern in town, they worked long into the night, and most of the next day, frantically stitching tents and banners. It was after dusk when Lady Roote, knowledge and skill superior to Alyssa’s own, deemed their efforts sufficient and called a halt to the work, allowing the workers a few precious hours of sleep before the march on the morrow.

 

After ten days on the march, they reached Stone Hedge, and Alyssa instantly understood why the other lords had vehemently refused to even consider attacking.  _ I feel like a fool.  _ The walls were high, strong, thick and covered with archers. Swords and spears jutted from every opening, Stone Hedge was filled with men and steel. Beside her, she could see Lord Jonos valiantly attempting not to show his sorrow at the sight of his seat in Lannister hands, the golden lion banners flying from the battlements mainly the cause. As the Tully host slowly approached the castle, a bird flew out from one of the towers, heading west over the Red Fork.  A thought struck Alyssa, and she turned to Lord Jonos. “My lord of Bracken, how many ravens does Stone Hedge have trained for Riverrun?”

 

The Lord of Stone Hedge furrowed his brow. “Five, my lady. The other ravens are trained as follows: One for each of the Great House seats, Winterfell, Casterly Rock and so on, three for King’s Landing, two for each powerful House in the Riverlands, one for each of our bannermen and one for the Citadel.”

 

“So the only ravens that might actually reach Tywin in time to do any good are the ones for Riverrun, Pinkmaiden, Raventree Hall or Casterly Rock?”

 

Lord Jonos nodded sharply. “Yes, my lady, I see what you mean. Only nine birds are left in Stone Hedge that might help.”

 

Alyssa turned to Lord Vypren, studying the castle intently. “Well, my lord, now you have seen it firsthand, can you pull off your part of the plan?”

 

The thin man smiled. “Not a raven will leave from now on, my lady, I promise you.” He turned back to organising the camp, while Ser Stevron saw to the unpacking and assembling of the trebuchets, carefully placing them just out of range of Stone Hedge’s catapults. Through the rest of the day, every man was busy in some regard, whether setting up tents, digging trenches, setting spikes and embedding pikes in the ground, raising banners or foraging for food.  An hour before dusk, the camp was set up, and Alyssa called the lords together.

 

“We march at first light tomorrow, my lords. Lord Mallister, Ser Stevron, each of you will leave five hundred men, your hundred best archers among them, here with the Vypren and Roote men under Lord Vypren’s command. ” Nods and affirmations were her response, and she nodded, satisfied. “Well then, my lords, I suggest you get some rest, as I intend to, it is a long way yet to Riverhold.” Heading to her pavilion, she fell asleep quickly, body gradually becoming used to one of the truths of campaign life; you sleep when you can, for you never know when you may be able to sleep next.

 

It was an easy enough journey at first, the land around Stone Hedge had been cleared to provide the castle’s garrison an unrestricted view for nearly a mile, and so it was gentle hills and flat land for the most part, hardly any trouble. As they marched off, a figure could be seen on Stone Hedge’s walls briefly, racing for the tower and a few moments later, a bird flew from the window, heading west. One of Alyssa’s men reached for his bow, but the bird barely cleared the castle walls before five arrows arrested it mid-flight and it fell from the sky without a sound. 

 

Smirking, Alyssa rode on, confident in Lord Vypren’s ability to keep word from reaching Lord Tywin, and they made good time until they reached the pass through the hills.  A narrow pass, wide enough only for two wagons side by side, it was rough, slow going and it took days for the host to travel through, through hills that would make a perfect ambush site should Lannister troops arrive while they were passing. Fortunately, they navigated the pass without incident and night on the fifth day found them making camp at the base of High Heart.  Just being in the presence of the sacred hill made Alyssa’s skin crawl. “Seven bless us and keep us safe.”

 

A bark of mocking laughter was her only answer. “No use praying to the Seven, they have no power here.” Ser Damon was watching her with an amused grin on his face. “This place belongs to the children of the forest.” Suddenly, Alyssa had the strange feeling that she was being watched. She looked up at the hill, but all that could be seen was the ring of sacred weirwoods. Shivering, she headed for bed, resisting the urge to constantly turn and check if she was being watched.

 

The land around High Heart was flat and smooth, allowing a magnificent view of all around for miles, and only when the hill was hours behind them did she finally relax, confident she was no longer being watched, whether by children or lions.  As the host moved beyond High Heart and into the former Lychester lands, now under her control, Alyssa nearly wept at the sight before her. Tywin’s reavers had been merciless. The landscape was a blackened wasteland; every crop in sight had been burned, every village sacked and every man, woman and child unable to shelter behind a stone wall had felt fire and sword as well.  

 

One village, where a girl of barely eight namedays had been raped several times before being burned alive, had Alyssa clenching her sword hilt, teeth clenched in rage. Even Lord Vypren was silent, and lacking the time to bury the bodies, the host set what remained of the village alight with fire arrows before moving on. The scenes of death and violence grew more and more frequent as they travelled deeper into Alyssa’s lands, until five days after leaving High Heart, they reached the Red Fork, and Alyssa’s worries truly began.

 

Unlike the narrow, raging Blue Fork or the swollen, wide Green Fork, the Red Fork was hundreds of feet wide, with islands in the middle at places.  The current was slow, and lazy but the bottom of the deceptively calm river was a mess of silt and mud that could take a man’s boot, or grasp the arm of a foolish swimmer and hold them there until fish were playing with their bones. It was here that every Lord of Riverrun was laid to rest, bones and armor slowly moving along the Red Fork over hundreds of years until they eventually reached Blackwater Bay. The river was well named; the mud carried along from its source in the western mountains giving the surface a dull red hue. As the water moved downstream, the surface seemed to shift briefly, mud giving way to clear water. On either side of the streak of blue, mud red bordered it, and as if to stamp the point home, a silver fish leapt briefly before continuing downstream.

 

_ Now is where all this could come undone in a few moments. _

 

Alyssa took a deep breath. This river fed her moat, watered her lands and continued east to form part of Riverrun’s famous defensive position, but it could just as easily turn against her if she was careless. She turned to Lord Mallister, patiently keeping pace at her side, easily the better rider. “Lord Jason, form up the men. Outriders are to scout out the riverbank. Pikes will cross first, spearmen after that, archers and wagons last. Knights will remain ready to respond in case Lord Tywin has set a trap for us.”

 

Even forming the men up took the best part of an hour, and slowly, rank by rank, the pikemen moved over the river. Anxiously, hand on sword hilt, Alyssa watched as the spearmen and the rest of the foot crossed, followed by the archers. When only the knights and the wagons were left on the east bank, Alyssa held up a clenched fist and gestured forward. Touching her heels into the side of her horse, she proceeded into the river, wagons following her, knights flanking either side. It was terrifying, moving slowly, step by step across the wide waters, completely exposed to attack from either bank. Occasionally, a man would curse as he lost a boot to the swirling silt, but in the main, the crossing proceeded without incident; save the cursing when wagons became stuck in the mud and had to be dug out.

 

It was nearly dusk when the last wagon finally gained the other bank, and everyone was exhausted. Even the lords had shed their share of sweat. Breathing heavily, Ser Vypren rode up to Alyssa, wiping his brow with a cloth and thankful he had chosen only to wear mail on the march. “That was the last of the wagons, my lady. With your permission, we will begin making camp immediately.”

 

Immediately, Alyssa shook her head. “We aren’t making camp, ser. Get your men together, we keep moving.”

 

“But, my lady” Ser Damon Vypren was shocked and exhausted in equal parts. “The men have been marching all day, and it will be dark in less than an hour, we can’t keep going any longer.”

 

Rather than respond, Alyssa pointed into the distance down the road. In the fading light of the sunset, the faint outline of a castle against the hills could be seen. “We are on the River Road, ser, and as you said, exhausted from crossing the river. We are currently less than five days march from Riverrun, and that is at our current speed. If Lord Tywin sent his knights ahead, riding hard, they could be upon us in the dead of night, exposed as we are. Tomorrow, the men can rest while we regroup with my uncle’s forces and make our plans, but for now I have no intention of camping out in the open when my seat is less than three hours march down the road.” She pitched her voice so it carried to all the lords nearby. “So come, my lords, get your men moving again, the end of our long journey is only a few hours away.” She smiled at Ser Damon when he hesitated. “Think of it like this, ser, a proper featherbed is only a few hours away.”

 

That did the trick, and with a groan, he turned and began giving orders to his men. Many had already begun unpacking tents, and it took a few minutes, not to mention much groaning and cursing before the army was ready and willing to move again. Slowly, one step at a time, the host continued its march east. Three hours of marching turned into four when the sun sank, and so it was by the light of hundreds of torches that Alyssa finally saw Riverhold again for the first time in nearly a moon. Equally relieved to finally stop moving, the host gave a cheer when they saw it, making camp quickly and to be honest, rather clumsily, before bedding down. Alyssa herself remained awake just long enough to offer the lords her hospitality, before stumbling to her chamber and falling onto her bed, passing out immediately.

 

Waking in Riverhold was as different from waking on the march as could be. She was resting on a featherbed rather than a bedroll set up on hard ground, and instead of people rushing around her preparing food and readying to break camp, her bedchamber was quiet and peaceful. For the first time in weeks, Alyssa felt not only rested, but refreshed. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she reached for the small bell on the table and rang for a servant. 

 

In mere moments, a young woman entered, bowing at the waist. “Milady. How may I serve you?”

 

Alyssa decided to address her most immediate concern first as her stomach growled. “I’d like to break my fast please. Eggs, bacon and fried bread. To drink...”  _ To hell with it, I feel like a treat after so long on the march.  _ “To drink, cider.” Bowing again, the girl left, and Alyssa was alone with her thoughts.

 

_ I’ve done it. Every Tully bannerman save Lord Mooton has given me their strength, and he’ll be dealt with later. Hopefully it will be enough, Lord Tywin has had nearly a moon to prepare. _

 

Before she could worry herself too much, a knock at the door came, and the young servant entered again, carrying a tray laden with her food. She reached for her fork, and the young woman nervously cleared her throat. “Milady? Do you require anything else?”

 

Alyssa’ frowned in thought. “Actually, yes. Find my uncle, Ser Brynden, and ask him to report to my solar as soon as he is able.”

 

The girl curtseyed. “Of course milady.” She turned to leave, but a thought seemed to strike her. “Oh, and milady? Welcome back.” 

 

Alyssa smiled gratefully, then turned to her food. She was just putting down her fork and knife, savouring the last sweet mouthful of cider when the door opened and her uncle entered. Alyssa rose to greet him, but she had scarcely opened her mouth when she was grabbed off her feet and swept into a crushing hug. “Alyssa, gods be good, you did it.”

 

Her face broke into a warm smile. “Uncle, good to see you too.”

 

The two embraced for a moment, before Brynden set her back on her feet and stepped back, clearing his throat. “My lady. Riverhold is yours again.”

 

“Thank you, ser. You have served admirably as castellan of my seat in my absence, as always.” Soon, however, the reunion turned to business, and Brynden decided to ask the obvious question.

 

“From the tents outside, my lady, you were successful, but how many men did your lord father’s bannermen bring?”

 

Alyssa totted up totals in her head. “Near enough to seven thousand from Houses Frey, Mallister and Vypren. We had more but I was forced to leave two thousand behind.” She explained the events of the past few weeks, and Brynden’s eyebrows rose as he heard her tale.

 

“I see”. The experienced old soldier knew all too well how strong Stone Hedge was. “You made the right choice, to attack would have cost you thousands of men, and lost the confidence of your lords.”

 

“True, but it came at a high price”. Alyssa sighed. “Two thousand men was more than I wanted to leave. When I combine my forces with your eight thousand, we only have close to fifteen thousand men, not enough to meet Lord Tywin in the field and be sure of victory.”

 

“No, but enough to give him a fight, and mayhaps enough to carry the day, if Edmure sorties during battle. Fifteen thousand men are now waiting to march to Riverrun, that’s not a small host. Now you have awoken, I can get the men ready to move.” 

 

Automatically, he bowed and spun to leave, only for his niece’s voice to stop him in his tracks. “No.”

 

He turned, a look of surprise on his face. “My lady? We must march as soon as we can to relieve Riverrun.”

 

Alyssa’s face was set. “We aren’t marching today, Uncle. My men have marched for weeks, in the case of the Frey and Mallister men, all the way down the Green Fork and beyond.  If we take them to battle now, they’ll be too tired to fight. I pushed them hard yesterday, I feared Lord Tywin would take us in the night if we camped at the ford, so we pressed on to Riverhold. They need time to recover their strength,  and today shall be a rest day for them while we make our plans, then we shall depart for Riverrun on the morrow.”

 

Brynden nodded shortly. “Of course, my lady. Shall I call the lords together for a council?”

 

“No.” Alyssa shook her head. “I need some time alone to think, and plan. Leave me be for a few hours, uncle, but have the maid bring up every book we have about the Westerlands.”

 

The Blackfish bowed and left, soon replaced by a familiar young girl, struggling to carry a large pile of tomes. Setting them down, she left as Alyssa waved absently at her, already reaching for the topmost one; determined to find some wisdom to help her bring down this old, wily lion.

 

“ _ Tywin Lannister called the banners. He did not seek his lord father’s leave, nor inform him of his intent, but rode forth himself with five hundred knights and three thousand men-at-arms and crossbowmen behind him _ .” Alyssa put the book down for a moment and stretched tiredly.  The pile of tomes beside her was growing larger as the light faded, Archmaester Gyldayn’s manuscript of the Reyne-Tarbeck rebellion the seventh book she had looked through. About to toss it onto the pile with the others, she glanced back at the page as she went to close the book, before something caught her eye, and her attention now fully on the book, she continued to read to herself.

 

“ _ House Tarbeck was the first to feel Ser Tywin’s wroth. The Lannister host descended so quickly that Lord Walderan’s vassals and supporters had no time to gather. Foolishly, his lordship rode forth to meet Ser Tywin’s host with only his household knights beside him _ .” Ruefully, she shook her head. “That sounds familiar.” She read on, now absorbed in the fall of House Tarbeck and House Reyne, until a passage near the end drew her attention.

 

“ _ With pick and axe and torch, his own miners brought down tons of stone and soil, burying the great gates to the mines until there was no way in and no way out. Once that was done, he turned his attention to the small, swift stream that fed the crystalline blue pool beside the castle from which Castamere took its name. It took less than a day to dam the stream and only two to divert it to the nearest mine entrance. The earth and stone that sealed the mine had no gaps large enough to allow a squirrel to pass, let alone a man...but the water found its way down.  _

 

_ Ser Reynard had taken more than three hundred men, women and children into the mines, it is said. Not a one emerged. A few of the guards assigned to the smallest and most distant of the mine entrances reported hearing faint screams and shouts coming from beneath the earth one night, but by daybreak the stones had gone silent once again. No one has ever reopened the mines of Castamere. The halls and keeps above them, put to the torch by Tywin Lannister, stand empty to this day, a mute testament to the fate of those foolish enough to take up arms against the lions of the Rock. _ ”

 

She put the book with the others, before her shoulders slumped in despair. “Nothing but what I already know; a merciless man who destroyed two of his bannermen for rebelling against him, and will do the same to my family if I don’t stop him.” She reached for another book, before a thought struck her, and she retrieved Gyldayn’s work, now reading slowly and carefully. When she was finished, the noonday light was illuminating her solar, and she had come to the conclusion that Tywin Lannister could be summed up in two words. Ruthless pragmatism.

 

“He drowned the Reynes because it was easier than sending his own men to fight their way down the caves, he drew Edmure into the field because it was the easiest way to win while losing the least men.” Alyssa sighed in defeat. “If I try and set a trap for him like I did his son, he’ll calmly send a few men in to spring it before continuing to crush me.”

 

She moved over to her map table, desperately seeking some wisdom from the painted depiction of the Riverlands. Unlike many lords who kept only old faded scrolls on a small table, Alyssa’s map table took up a full half of her solar. Ten feet long and five wide, a map of the Riverlands took up the entire table, a pile of others in a box under it. The size of the map allowed it to show more detail than others smaller than it, like the small trees marking the wooded western bank of the Red Fork.

 

Riverrun was surrounded by three lion pieces, while a trout was defiantly standing between them atop the Tully castle itself. Absently, Alyssa added two towers and an eagle to the dolphin atop Riverhold.   _ The map might say we’re even, but I have a thousand more men, while he has more heavy horse than I do. _

 

Curiously, she grouped the three lions together in front of Riverrun, and moved the other three pieces to meet them.   _ If we fight a massed battle like this, my cavalry disadvantage won’t matter as much in a battle of that scale. _ She flicked over the lions, the eagle and the towers. _ But with the numbers so close, even if I do win, my host will be shattered, and if we fail to get Tywin, he will bring reinforcements from the West and smash our broken forces. _ She reset the pieces while already thinking through her next move. 

 

Hand moving almost without her knowledge, she took all three pieces from Riverhold and moved them up to the single lion piece south of Riverrun.  _ If I strike his camps one at a time, I have enough men to easily crush any one of them. The rivers separate them and prevent them from coming to the aid of any of the others. _ Then the midday light seemed to shine on the other two lions, and she groaned, moving them to join the first.  _ But if I march my host up the River Road to meet him, he’ll see us coming miles away, moving as slowly as our supply train will force us to, he’ll have ample time to bring his other two camps back across the river, combine his forces and deploy to meet us in battle. _

 

Grasping at her hair in dismay, she looked over the area closely, desperate to find any sort of advantage in the coming battle. To Riverrun’s west, the Tumblestone rushed down from the western mountains, forming a barrier between Alyssa’s forces and the northern camp.  _ That cannot be forded or swum within days of Riverrun. It blocks me from striking the Lannisters, but it also blocks them from aiding the western camp. I’ll find no help there, but neither will they. _

 

North of the Tully castle, the Red Fork curved east, separating the north and east Lannister camps, running east for miles past Stone Hedge and Lord Harroway’s Town, before joining the Trident. Remembering, Alyssa placed another lion piece atop Stone Hedge.   _ If I attack the northern camp, the eastern one can easily reinforce it. And if I attack the eastern camp, there’s no way to do it without the western camp being alerted, and falling on my rear as I pass. _

 

The Red Fork ran from Riverhold until it curved north of Riverrun, protecting the eastern camp from a surprise attack. Between the two rivers, the western camp sat astride the River Road, in front of Riverrun’s gates. With no rivers between Riverhold and the camp, and only a straight march up a road separating the two, it seemed the most inviting prospect, but Alyssa knew better.   _ I’d never reach it before he deployed to meet me. _  She rested her finger on the Red Fork thoughtfully.  _ Here. This river protects two of his camps, and I could cross it without his knowledge here in safety. The Red Fork is the weakness in his defences if there is one. _

 

Her gaze moved from Riverhold to the eastern camp, and then to the northern one.  _ If I moved quickly, I could strike one camp, then push on over the river to take the second before he knew what had happened. _ Her gaze hardened.  _ But of course he’d see me coming long before I could reach him and we’d be fighting an open battle anyhow. _ Her finger moved down the woods on the western bank of the Red Fork.  _ Mayhaps I could conceal a few hundred cavalry in these woods, then in the midst of battle, strike him in the flank. _

 

Almost immediately, she rejected the idea.  _ There’s no way that would work. Such a small force may not be able to turn the tide, and I couldn’t hide a bigger force from his outriders. Besides, even if I kill his outriders, those woods run close to the western camp, it doesn’t matter that you can’t see through them, the horses will be heard easily, the beasts make enough noise for ten men each. _

 

Almost against her will, her body carried her over to the other side of her solar, to the window just near her bed. Mind on other matters, she glanced out. There was not much to see, hence why she hardly ever looked out this window.  While the Red Fork formed her moat, on this side of the castle the high bank and the trees blocked most of the view of the river; try as she might she could only see over them, or a few feet through them. If she wanted a good view of the river, she used the western window.  _ I must have that wood cleared _ she mused to herself, _ if not for the height of my solar, I wouldn’t be able to tell if there was an army massing on the other bank waiting for me. _

 

Suddenly, an idea seemed to strike her as if the Kingslayer had broken free from his chains and thrust his sword into her chest.  _ Wait. _ She took the dolphin piece and placed it on the other side of the Red Fork,  moving around the table to stand on the western side. From here, she was looking west over the Tumblestone and Red Fork. Alyssa bent down, and placed her head almost at the level of the western Lannister camp, looking east over the Red Fork to the other camp. A painted line of trees blocked her gaze.   _ Those woods keep the west and east camps from seeing each other. _ Hopes rising, she moved the dolphin up past the woods, and tapped it against the lion representing the eastern camp. Moving the towers and eagle pieces to join it, she knocked the lion over.

 

_ My full force against one camp would certainly destroy it, but if I brought my full host, my supply train would force me to move at the pace of a snail. I could kill their outriders well enough, and prevent Tywin getting any word until I attacked the east camp, but as soon as the attack begins, the sounds of fighting will alert the other camps to what is happening. We won’t be able to move quickly enough to cross the river and hit the northern camp before they form up and hold the bank against our crossing. The west bank gives them the high ground; they’d deny our passage until Tywin roused the west camp, crossed the Red Fork and hit us from behind, crushing us from both sides. _

 

_ Even if I left the supply carts behind, its a four day ride to Riverrun. My men couldn’t fight while half-starved.  _ It was then that she remembered her ride to Seagard.  _ We didn’t starve then, we just brought food. If I have every man bring enough food for four days, especially if I have the supply carts moved close to Riverrun so we can resupply after the battle, then we can move faster.  _

 

_ We can’t attack two camps, but we can strike the eastern camp before the Lannisters realise what is happening. The width of the Red Fork and the screening trees should stop the western camp from hearing our approach, or the sounds of battle until it’s too late. _

 

Taking another look at the map, her eyes widened as she looked at the Tumblestone from a different angle, cutting like a knife between the north and west camps, and she blew out a breath slowly, before ringing for a servant. In short order, her maid appeared.  “Milady. Shall I take these books back to the library?”

 

Alyssa nodded shortly. “Please do so, and then find my uncle and the other lords bannermen, and ask them to join me in my solar, with my compliments.” The girl bowed, struggling slightly with the weight of the books, and left. Alyssa was left alone with her thoughts. Staring at the map, and the three lion pieces placed around Riverrun, against her will, her hands clasped in worry.

 

_ I think this plan might work, but if they see us coming and Tywin unites his host, we’re finished. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first week back at uni is always the easiest, so I'm pushing to get this out  
> before life causes my writing speed to drop dramatically. My beta should have finished examining the next chapter by tomorrow, so I'm not leaving you waiting for the battle too long, that's a promise.


	23. The River Runs Free

Soon a knock came at the door, and Alyssa opened it to find most of the Riverlords waiting outside. She invited them in, and soon her uncle came hurrying behind, apologizing profusely for his lateness. 

 

Ser Brynden entered, and closed the door, all present now feeling the closeness of the space as Alyssa’s solar was not designed with eight people in mind. As he crossed the room to join the group standing around the map table, Alyssa took a brief moment to glance around at the men in the room.

 

Short, stout Clement Piper, red hair and beard a stark contrast to his blue plate and mail. Broad chested Jonos Bracken in his grey plate and mail, ever present horsehair crested helm under his arm, broadsword strapped to his back. Karyl Vance, newly made Lord of Wayfarer’s Rest after his father’s death defending this very castle. Damon Vypren, well-used sword and dented armour a welcome contrast to the polished green plate and jewelled longsword his father had worn on the march. Greying Jason Mallister, eagle winged helm over hair the colour of steel; wearing purple armor and eagle-hilted longsword as if he were born with them. Ser Stevron Frey, pointed nose and grey eyes giving him an unfortunate resemblance to a weasel, as with most Freys. And her uncle. Loyal as always, Ser Brynden Tully was hovering at her right hand ready to give aid as necessary, his stern look belying his kind demeanour.

 

Ser Vypren cleared his throat, and Alyssa was drawn back to the present. “My lords. Thank you for joining me. I’ve asked you here because I wish to inform you all of my plan to attack the Lannisters tomorrow.”

 

Ser Damon raised a delicate eyebrow. “Attack the Lannisters. My lady, you do realise they are near our equal in numbers, and that we’d be fighting on ground of their choosing?”

 

Alyssa’s lips curved into a smile. “Will we?” She pointed at the map, and almost as one, the lords bent over it, Ser Vypren doing so with a still bemused look on his face. 

 

“Here is my plan my lords. On the morrow, we march, each man carrying enough food for four days, for we will be leaving our supply carts behind to increase our speed. We will cross the Red Fork once more, and move up to attack the Lannisters eastern camp. The woods along the other bank of the Red Fork will prevent the western camp from discovering our movements. We will fall on the east camp at dawn and rout it, slay them to a man before the other camps can ready themselves for battle.”

 

The old soldiers in the room, Brynden Tully and Jason Mallister, were the most experienced in war and they turned to each other, smiling as they realised the situation the Lannisters would then be in. For those less experienced, Alyssa continued to explain the details of her plan.

 

“With the eastern camp destroyed, the siege will be broken, allowing us to resupply Riverrun by sending boats up the Red Fork from Lord Harroway’s Town. With a food supply restored, my lord brother’s army can regain their strength, and threaten the western camp’s rear once more.” A slow, ugly grin spread over Alyssa’s face. “But that’s not the worst of it for the lions, my lords. With the eastern camp in our hands, we will have split the Lannister forces in two. Trapped on opposite sides of the Tumblestone, where there is no crossing within twenty miles of Riverrun, they must either march nearly two days west to rejoin their forces, or come to battle with us.”

 

She smirked. “I dearly hope they do choose to do so, they would be two smaller forces attacking over rivers towards our larger host. If they try that, we will show them why the Riverlands are our lands.” With difficulty in the small space, she straightened up. “Are there any objections or questions, my lords?”

 

The obvious first question was put by Lord Piper. “My lady, what if the Lannisters should hear of our coming and form up before we reach them? Your plan would be ruined.”

 

Alyssa tipped her head, acknowledging his point. “That is why they must not know. Ser Brynden” she turned to her uncle, who immediately looked expectantly towards her, waiting for instructions. “You will take command of our outriders. Take as many men as you need, and send them out ahead of our host. Stop any Lannister scouts from discovering us, and inform us immediately should the Lannister camps reform.”

 

“They will never see us coming, my lady.” The Blackfish was grinning at the thought.

 

Alyssa nodded briefly to him in thanks, then pushed on. “Does any other man have any objections?”

 

“Why don’t we finish the job?” Karyl Vance, the most junior lord in the room, rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “If the Lannisters are cut off from each other, we could cross the Red Fork and crush either camp as we did the eastern before the other could come to its aid.

 

Silent until now, Jason Mallister spoke up from where he stood, quietly thinking through the plan. “If I may, my lady.” Alyssa nodded to him to speak, and he shook his head to Lord Karyl. By the time we have finished with the eastern camp, the north and western camps will be roused and ready to receive us. The Red Fork is both a friend, and a foe in this case. The west bank is higher than the east, and wooded. We may have more than twice their numbers, but we would be attempting a crossing over a hundred feet of river, up a bank and through woods. Their archers would tear us to pieces; two to one is not good enough odds to try something like that.”

 

Defeated, Lord Vance bowed his head and Alyssa smiled gratefully to Lord Mallister before returning to her plans. “Now, as for the order of battle my lords. We will attack in two waves. The foot will come first, clearing a path through their defences, before our cavalry charges through the Lannister flank once they are committed. I have thought long and hard over who I want to lead the cavalry, and I have made my decision. I do not base my choices on who you are or how many men you have, the one leading the charge will be one whose loyalty has been proven, one I can trust not to break and flee.” Ser Vypren flushed slightly at her words. “Lord Jonos Bracken. You and your riders will lead the cavalry charge.” Silence filled the room for a moment, before it exploded into a roar.

 

“Him?” Ser Stevron’s face was as red as the stallion on the banner of the man he was insulting. “Bracken has only twenty men, House Frey gave you four thousand. We should have the honour of leading the charge if you will not.”

 

In contrast to his fire, Alyssa was ice, coolly waiting until he was panting from the force of his shouts before she responded. “I am aware of how many men House Bracken has, Ser Stevron, and that is the exact reason he will lead. Lord Jonos” she addressed the broad-shouldered man directly “you lost your lands, seat and men fighting for my brother. House Tully does not forget the services of our loyal bannermen. Nor do we let them go unrewarded. No other man here has given as much for the Riverlands in this war than you have; the honour of leading the cavalry is yours.”

 

Scarcely able to speak, the Lord of Stone Hedge cleared his throat. “My...my lady, this is a great honour for House Bracken. I will not fail you.”

 

“I know you will not, Lord Jonos.” Alyssa turned to the still red Frey. “Ser Stevron, you and House Frey will follow Lord Bracken’s riders.” This seemed to mollify Ser Stevron slightly as Alyssa continued. “Next will be House Mallister, and I will be behind  with Riverhold’s levies. Next will be House Piper, then the men of Atranta and Wayfarer’s Rest will bring up the rear. After their charge, the cavalry are to dismount and help with the fighting. Lord Bracken will command the horse, while Lord Jason will command the foot.”  She stepped back from the table, causing all present to unthinkingly breathe in relief as the space became less crowded.

 

“What of my men, my lady?” Ser Damon missed nothing, including the omission of his men from the order of battle. “Are we not to march with you?”

 

Alyssa took a deep breath, steeling herself. This would be the least popular part of her plan. “You will march, ser, but not with us. After more than three moons of siege, my brother and his men will be running very low on food. If we break the siege, they will need resupply immediately. You and your men will take the supply train and follow us to Riverrun at your own speed. We cannot afford to wait for them, so we must leave them behind and ride fast. You and your six hundred men will guard the supplies as they travel to Riverrun; once we win the battle, you should be no more than a day’s march from the eastern camp. There we can bring boats from Harroway, load the supplies and aid the men in Riverrun. It may not be a dangerous or glamourous task, Ser Vypren, but it is vital.”

 

Damon Vypren was a clever man, and as much as he hated it, he saw the sense in the plan. Grudgingly, the heir to Greenwater Bound nodded his acceptance of his role. Alyssa looked around the assembled lords. “There’ll be glory enough for us all if we succeed, my lords. Now prepare, for if there are no more objections, on the morrow, we march to shoo these lions back to their homes.” Roars of affirmation and cheers rang through the small space, and Alyssa considered the resulting headache a small price to pay.

 

The first two days of the march were difficult, Alyssa pushed the host hard and fast to make as much distance as possible in the first two days where the risk of being detected was the least, and the men would curse her name as they collapsed into their bedrolls at night. Brynden’s outriders ranged ahead of the host, and often as they marched Alyssa would pass the body of a Lannister scout with an arrow in their chest or a wound in their neck, who would never report to Lord Tywin. The third day they moved slower, Alyssa fearing that the cloud of dust kicked up by fast marching soldiers or galloping horses would be seen from the Lannister camp. The fourth day was a surprise to all, Alyssa calling a halt to the march early in the day.

 

Lord Mallister rode up beside her as she was unstrapping her bedroll. “Why are we stopping, my lady? We are but three hours from battle?”

 

Alyssa pointed north, where the faint outline of crimson tents could be seen. “Exactly, my lord. If we wish to take them undetected, we must strike at the first light of day tomorrow.  Should we camp any closer, the risk of being detected by their sentries as we approach is too high. It would be a three hour march in daylight, but at night, we must be more careful. We must move slowly to avoid horses breaking their legs or men falling; if this wasn’t our lands I wouldn’t try it. Thank goodness we have a few men from Riverrun here to guide us, have them lead the column.”  

 

She yanked at the stubborn strap again, and reaching over, Lord Mallister easily freed it with a short tug. Smiling gratefully at the Lord of Seagard, Alyssa unrolled it as she continued to speak. “Moving slowly, it will be four hours or so before we reach the camp. To attack at first light, that means we must leave four hours before first light, which means waking the men earlier than usual. We will make camp now, to allow them to rest as much as they can.”

 

Lord Jason nodded briefly. “Understood, my lady.” He rode off to inform his men of the new situation.

 

Alyssa turned in her saddle, now addressing her uncle, dutifully keeping pace on her right hand, as always. “Uncle, take your best men and scout out their camp. Once dark comes, see what you can do about clearing away some of their defences. Fill their trenches with whatever we have to hand, cut or remove their spikes, we will need an open route to attack their camp.”

 

Brynden Tully put his heels to his horse, and with a nod to Alyssa, he raced away to find his men, unwilling to waste a moment. Alyssa returned to her bedroll, cursing to herself as she lay down upon it and found a rock poking into her side.

 

The moon was shining overhead when the Tully host broke camp, which in this case, involved rolling up and reslinging their bedrolls. They moved towards the Lannister camp slowly, unwilling to increase their speed and create more noise that might betray their presence. An hour into the slow march, the quiet tapping of hooves could be heard as Brynden Tully drew rein next to Alyssa. His voice was low, used to communicating under the ears of the Lannisters. “My lady. We’ve done the best we can. There was nothing we could do about the trench, but the spikes have been weakened from this side. They still appear intact, but a good blow from a warhammer or greataxe should break them in two.”

 

Alyssa nodded briefly as she absorbed this. “And the state of their camp? Have they detected us?”

 

Brynden Tully’s lips curved into a smile. “Detected us? My lady, they’ve been besieging Riverrun for over three moons, and sieges are deadly dull. Their sentries barely keep a watch anymore, their men won’t even be up and armed for another five hours if they keep to their usual pattern.”

 

Alyssa’s smile now matched his own. “Five hours they won’t have, if I have my way. As for the trench, perhaps there is something we can do about that.” She explained her idea to her uncle, and his eyebrows rose. “I’d never have thought of that. I’ll tell the men, my lady.” He trotted away, his horse moving as fast as he dared allow it, while the column continued towards the camp.

 

As the sun threatened to creep over the horizon, the Tully host neared the Lannister camp. Brynden’s men moved forward, quickly silencing the sentry directly in front of their point of attack and retreating before they were seen. Now the Blackfish was wearing plate rather than the leather and mail of an outrider, and moving with the rest of his men, gripping a warhammer and waiting for Alyssa to give the signal. For her part, she kept an eye on the Lannister camp as they drew closer. An hour’s march. Half an hour’s march. Fifteen minutes. It was when they were ten minutes away at their current speed, perhaps three minutes or so were they running, that men began to emerge from tents.

 

Ser Robert Brax yawned as he rubbed sleep from his eyes, determined to show a good example by being the first awake. Seven only knew the men needed it, having been all but idle for moons now, they had taken to drinking, dicing and whoring. He belted on his sword as he left his tent, leaving the rest of his armor until his squire was awake, giving the man in question a kick as he went. He stood in the centre of camp, and looked east over the River Road at Stone Hedge, where the faint light of Tully fires could be seen.  _ The Tully girl has been laying her siege for nearly three weeks now. What is she thinking, we have moons of start on her, she must know that Riverrun will fall before Stone Hedge does? _

 

The flash of light off armor drew his attention to the south of the camp, and he sighed in relief.  _ The outriders, coming to tell us that Alyssa Tully is still miles to the east. _ The sun rose a little higher, and the glare of light shining off steel became blinding. Ser Brax frowned.  _ That’s too much light to be coming from five men. That isn’t the outriders. _ He moved quickly to the sentry, leaning against the palisade, intending to punish the man severely for sleeping on watch, when his blood ran cold.

 

Three arrows had penetrated the man’s chest, punching through the green arrow of Sarsfield on his surcoat, his ringmail and his chest. The last arrow had been aimed carefully, slicing through the weakened ringmail and pinning him to the palisade, giving the impression that he was sleeping at his post as he leaned over. The dried blood on his armor and the horn in his hand told their own story; sometime last night he had been ambushed, and been slain while trying to signal for help.  _ That means those men out there… _ Without sparing time for another thought, Ser Robert attempted to take the horn from the sentry, only to find the man’s dead grip was locked around the horn. Swallowing his disgust at what he had to do, he drew his sword and severed the hand. Thrusting his sword into the ground and breaking the fingers with audible cracks, he pried the horn free and drawing the deepest breath he had ever drawn, sounded the horn.

 

The mournful call echoed through the camp, and almost immediately after, another horn echoed out from outside the camp. Banners rose among them, and Ser Robert’s mouth ran dry as enemy footmen charged towards the camp. He wet his mouth desperately from the sentry’s waterskin, then sounded the horn again, shouting desperately to accompany it. “To arms! To arms men of the West! To me men of Hornvale!” The Tully forces reached the edge of the trench, and for a moment, he dared to hope that the trench might hold them back. 

 

Then the Tully footmen began to throw things into it, each man throwing another as he arrived, and soon the gap was filled enough for the first Tully men to scramble across, and halt at the spikes on the other side. Snatching his sword from the ground, the heir to Hornvale moved to stop them, with the few men already armed, knowing he must prevent them from gaining a foothold in the camp.

 

As he ran along the palisade, a Tully knight raised a warhammer and brought it down on one of the spikes, breaking it clean off.  Brax’s eyebrows rose in shock.  _ I saw the wood being cut for them, that was good wood. No man should be able to break them so easily. _ As more knights poured into the camp, a blow from a greataxe smashed a second, and the sweep of a greatsword cleared two more, one landing next to him, and he grabbed it in his left hand as he ran. If nothing else, it should serve as a short spear.  It felt strange to his hand, and he spun it in his hand, glancing at it. One side of the broken edge was splintered and jagged, as snapped wood should be, however the majority of the break was smooth. Instinctively stopping and looking more closely, small gatherings of dust could be seen and he cursed. 

 

_ Saw marks. These were weakened during the night. _ Even as he watched, the Tully knight threw down his warhammer and drew his sword, raising his head as he did so, and allowing the rising sun to illuminate the black trout cresting his greathelm. Ser Robert cursed again.  _ Brynden Tully. Of course, the Tully girl might have been at Stone Hedge, but he still had nearly seven thousand at Riverhold. _

 

As quickly as Ser Robert noticed this, he then came to a joyful realization.  _ The Blackfish only had seven thousand men, we have nearly five thousand.  His advantage is not crushingly overwhelming, if we rally and push them back, we can still win this. _  “To me, to me Westermen!” Finally reaching the gate, Ser Robert noticed men finally streaming out of their tents, grabbing swords and spears and he smiled.  _ We can hold them. _

 

He parried a sword thrust, and struck the man in the leg. Howling, the swordsman went down but Robert had no time to finish him as he was forced to block an axe swing from a man with the dancing maiden of Piper on his surcoat. Dodging, the heir to Hornvale struck the man down and moved on, aiming to cut his way through the Tully force and face Brynden Tully.  _ If I can bring down the Blackfish, the Tullys may retreat. _ Robert Brax pushed forward, but was forced to retreat when another wave of Tully foot came through the gap. Determinedly holding his ground at the gap, and breathing a sigh of relief as Lord Serrett appeared with two hundred armored men, more following, Ser Brax narrowed his eyes.  _ This is more than seven thousand men. Something is wrong here. _

 

Another horn blew out from the right flank. “For Tully and Riverrun!” Brax’s breath caught in his throat as the sound of galloping hooves thundered towards the camp. Desperately, he raised his voice. “Ware right, cavalry incoming!” He attempted to form his men up into a shield wall, but many of his men were lacking shields, and even as he turned to face this new threat, he was punched in the side and he collapsed to his knees, sword falling from his hand. Glancing up, he saw an armored man with the silver eagle of Mallister on his breastplate holding a spear, the point of which was protruding from his side and wet with fresh blood.  _ My blood. _ Through the haze of pain, the sounds of hooves became deafening and he watched as if in a dream as a column of Tully cavalry smashed into the right flank, banners flying.

 

Thousands of knights led the way, a steel mace that crushed its way through the camp, steel-shod hooves trampling men as they reached for weapons and armor. Following them was thousands more light horse, swords flashing as they struck down unarmoured men. They were led by a large man with a horsehair crested helm, an expert rider judging from the way that he leaned out of his saddle and struck down Lord Serrett with a broadsword at full gallop.  Even before the rider bearing the red stallion banner passed Lord Tytos, he knew who it was.  _ Jonos Bracken. So Lord Tywin was right, he escaped to Riverhold. _

 

The next banner, however, caused shock and fear to rise in the heir to Hornvale. The twin towers of House Frey. _ But Lord Walder sent all his strength with the Tully girl. _ Ser Robert had heard the outriders reports of the Tully girl laying siege to Stone Hedge with a host of men gathered from the north and eastern Riverlands, and knew the Houses in her host. A cold stone of fear formed in his belly, and the silver eagle of House Malllister confirmed his fears.   _ This is the Tully girl’s army. How? Alyssa Tully is supposed to be at Stone Hedge. Our outriders said yesterday they were still laying their siege, the Tullys could not have reached us so quickly, even if they’d broken their siege right after our outriders left. _

 

Helpless, Ser Robert could only watch as rider after rider swept past him, every new banner driving home the situation. The grey dolphin of Riverhold, and then the Tully girl herself rode past, red hair visible under her half helm, striking left and right with long and short sword as she passed. The dancing maiden of Piper. The green dragon and gatehouse of House Vance of Atranta, and the eyes and black dragon of House Vance of Wayfarer’s Rest brought up the rear. Lord Brax laughed to himself, a glob of blood flying out of his mouth.  _ This is her entire army. Somehow her two hosts have combined, no wonder we’ve lost, they have over three times our numbers. _ He laughed to himself again, grunting in pain as the agony of his wound finally hit him. The Mallister man looked down at him, releasing the spear and pulling his longsword from his scabbard. In the distance, Ser Robert could see his banner bearer desperately trying to fight his way to him, but the Tully numbers were too great. The Mallister armsman levelled the point of his blade at Brax’s throat. “Who are you?”

 

Ser Robert laughed again, despite the pain of his wounds. “I am Robert Brax, heir to Hornvale.”

 

The man’s eyes widened inside his helm. “Ser Brax, you are mine. Do you yield?”

 

Ser Robert simply continued to laugh. Angrily, the armsman jabbed him lightly with the point of the sword. “I may not be making myself clear, ser. Yield or die.”

 

The laughter stopped, and Ser Brax pointed angrily to the spear in his side. “Do you  _ see _ this?” He coughed another gout of blood as if to prove his point. “I am not long for this world, the Stranger will take me before you can collect your ransom.” His strength at last spent, he collapsed back onto the ground and winced. “Now please, finish what you started. I am asking you for mercy.”

 

The Mallister man nodded, and raised his sword. “I am sorry, ser. May you find peace in the Stranger’s arms.” Robert Brax closed his eyes, too weak to keep them open any longer. His vision was tinged with red. The blade swept down, and the red turned to black.

 

Now having dismounted, Alyssa Tully slashed her way through a small knot of Sarsfield men, the serjeant in the center desperately attempting to rally them. The archers of House Sarsfield were normally the best ranged unit the Westerlands had; armoured bowmen firing from horseback. But in the tight conditions of the camp, forced into close combat, they were all but useless. Alyssa’s wrist flicked in and out and Bloodclaw flashed and cut, slicing through bows, armour and flesh. The rising sun illuminated the grim scene as the Tully host was flooding into the camp. With Lord Serrett dead, command fell to Lewys Lydden, Lord of the Deep Den. However, Lord Lewys and his retainers had been overrun by a wave of Freys; whether he was dead, wounded or merely too engaged in his own fight; in any case he was unable to command. 

 

Leaderless and realizing that the fight was lost, the remaining men of Hornvale, Sarsfield and Silverhill began to drop their weapons and scream for mercy. Soon Lord Dennis of Castle Plumm found himself and his men standing alone, and as he cut down a Piper spearman, he looked over the field at the sound of bowstrings being drawn to see the Blackfish standing there, commanding a group of twenty or so archers, every arrow aimed straight at him.

 

As more Tullys began to press around the few hundred remaining men of House Plumm, Lord Dennis knew that to resist any further would mean the death of not only himself and his men, but his sons, even now Vance captives. With a frustrated groan, he hurled his longsword and shield to the ground, and bent his knee. Looking up at the sound of boots on the dirt, he saw Alyssa Tully herself approaching, crimson sword in her hand. Gritting his teeth at the thought of being defeated by a woman, he bowed his head. “I yield, my lady. The day is yours. I ask mercy for my men.”

 

Alyssa Tully raised her sword, and she heard every bowstring tense, before she lowered and sheathed the blade. “I accept your surrender, Lord Plumm.” She turned to address her men. “Get these prisoners bound and guarded, and then let’s see what treasures the lion had in his lair for us, shall we?” Cheers and roars greeted her question, and very soon the surviving Westermen were being led away to a corner of the camp and bound hand and foot. Lord Plumm was surprised to find only his hands were bound, though he was stripped of his armor and weapons. He found out why quickly enough when the Tully girl approached him, sword drawn. “Lord Dennis, you know where things are hidden. Supplies. Arms.  Treasure. Anything else you think we would want to know about. Tell us where it is hidden, and you will be treated according to your rank, and your men will be treated kindly as long as they do not attempt escape. Should you lie to us, or refuse to answer, things will go less kindly for you and your men.”

 

Lord Dennis would have laughed at a girl threatening him, but the blood-red sword in her hand reminded him that this girl had beaten Jaime Lannister. The bonds on his hands reminded him that he and his men were Tully prisoners, and he knew they would gladly reduce the number of mouths they had to feed. Reluctantly, he got to his feet, more difficult than usual with his hands tied in front of him, and led the Tully girl through the camp. When the Lannister host had split into three camps, Lord Lefford had divided the supplies evenly among the three commanders, and eagerly, the Tullys fell upon the baggage carts. 

 

The food was to be sent to Riverrun, while the weapons and armor were used to outfit the Tully host, many of their basic levies now putting on plate and brandishing castle-forged pikes. The paychest too was seized, and used to pay for the services of the sellswords who turned their cloaks almost as soon as the fighting began. By the time Lord Dennis had finished showing her everything necessary, her men were beginning to clear away the dead and see to the wounded. Lord Mallister was in charge of the prisoners, while the Blackfish was dealing with the wounded. Upon seeing her approach, he bowed briefly, wincing as the motion put pressure on a leg wound; too shallow to be dangerous but too long to be pleasant.

 

“My lady. We have the final count.”

 

Alyssa braced herself. “Give it to me, Uncle.”

 

Ser Brynden pulled a list from his pocket. “Our dead number close to a hundred, with nearly twice that wounded.  In total, killed or wounded were five from Stone Hedge, one hundred Freys, seventy-five Mallisters, thirty of our own Riverhold men, seventy-five Pipers, fifty from Atranta, twenty of the cavalry who followed Lord Jonos from Riverrun and another fifty from Wayfarer’s Rest. 

 

Footmen in the main, the charge of our horse seemed to take most of the fight out of the westerners. Lord Bracken took the heaviest losses, five of his twenty sworn riders were taken out of action while Lord Jonos himself was badly wounded. He will recover, but he will not ride again for nearly a moon at least.”

 

_ Just under a thirtieth part of my host. Much less than I dared to hope for.  _ “We’ve gotten away with this very lightly indeed. And the Lannisters?”

 

“It would be quicker to say who was not killed, my lady. We took two thousand prisoner, Plumm and Sarsfield men largely. As for lords and notables, the Lords of the Deep Den and Silverhill were killed along with the heir to Hornvale, while we have taken Lord Dennis Plumm prisoner. None of our lords or bannermen were killed. Additionally, we have enough supplies to feed our host for nearly a moon.” He paused grimly. “Their foragers were brutally effective in that regard. We have thousands of swords, spears, pikes and suits of armour, we have enough horses to mount thousands of our men and we have nearly two hundred sellswords willing to join our service, in exchange for some of the Lannister gold we captured.”

 

“A fine victory, then.” Alyssa smiled and pointed at the Lannister banner flying over the camp. “One last thing. Let’s have that down and run a proper banner up, shall we uncle?” Niece and uncle shared a smile, before the Blackfish saw to it personally, a slight hitch in his step the only indication of his wound. As the golden lion was replaced with the leaping trout of Riverrun, Alyssa looked over the Red Fork at the woods blocking her view of the western camp, and bared her teeth.

 

_ Your move, my lord. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I promised, the battle is resolved, but this is the last chapter I can promise for a while. I may find time to write some weeks, I may not, likely leaving towards not the closer I get to the end of term, but on average I should be able to put out roughly one every week to week and a half.


	24. The Wounded Lion

Tywin Lannister was not a stupid man. No one would ever rightly accuse him of such. Arrogant, yes. Ruthless, merciless and determined, again yes. But not foolish. So when he was rudely shaken out of his bedroll by one of his men, he knew instantly that something was wrong. His men knew better than to wake him like this for no reason; on the off chance this was some sort of jape, the man would suffer for it. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he reached for his sword and froze as the faint sound of shouts reached his ears. Cursing, he threw on his tunic, pulled on his breeches and then ran out of his tent. Outside, the noise was louder and he could clearly make out the sounds of steel on steel, battlecries and screams. Around him, men were beginning to emerge from tents, many half-drunk if not too drunk to fight. He cursed again as he took in the condition of his host. 

 

He looked for Ser Gregor, but oddly for a man of his size, the Mountain could not be found. Tywin gestured to the closest man he could find who looked sober enough to sit a horse, a man at arms with the red ox of Prester on his breast. He motioned the man towards the nearest horse. “Ride across the river with haste, find out what you can and then return. I want information, do not engage the enemy. Go.” The man saluted, and galloped off while Tywin tried to rouse his men. 

 

Shortly, the rider returned, face pale. “My lord Tywin, the eastern camp is under attack. I do not know how, but the Tullys approached without their knowledge, and now they look to overrun the eastern camp, if it is not reinforced soon it will fall.”

 

Tywin resisted the urge to shake the nervous young man, but it was not easy. “Which Tullys? How many? Which banners did you see?”

 

“Thousands, my lord.” The rider took a breath, trying to calm himself. “I saw the Tully trout and the Tully dolphin, the Frey towers, the Mallister eagle and many others, but it was the Blackfish who led them, the ebony fish on his helm was unmistakable. Thousands of Tully foot are attacking the camp, and their horse haven’t even been seen yet.”

 

The sound of thundering hooves could be heard over the river, growing steadily louder and Tywin closed his eyes. “That would be them now, would it not?”

 

“Yes, my lord.” The rider looked anxiously east. “Shall I form some men up to aid the camp?”

 

Face set in his usual emotionless mask, as if he had not just been outmanoeuvred by a woman less than half his age, Tywin steepled his fingers together in thought for a moment. “No. Most of our men are drunk or unarmored. By the time they could arm themselves, the battle would be finished, and in any case, to attack over a river against a force that in all likelihood, outnumbers ours, is sheer folly. It is clear now that whatever the scouts may report, the Tully girl is not at Stone Hedge. We will wait until it is decided, one way or the other.”

 

Fifteen minutes after the fighting had started, Tywin saw his brother approaching with a group of around a hundred pikemen and as many archers, evidently dressed in haste. They had weapons but no armour. “My lord.”

 

The sounds of battle died away, and Tywin nodded to his brother. “Kevan. It sounds as if things have been decided.” He turned to the scout waiting by his side. “Go. Find out what you can.” The man raced off, and Tywin turned to Kevan’s men. “Go don your armour, then return here. Bring as many others as you can. Quickly.” The men ran off, returning minutes later, accompanied by hundreds more, pulling on their mail and jamming their half-helms on their heads. By the time the sounds of galloping hooves was heard, Tywin had nearly a thousand men formed up and ready to cross the river should the need come.

 

Drawing rein next to Tywin, the scout gave his report. Tywin listened intently, his face giving away nothing. Once the man had finished, he sent him away to form up the other men and beckoned Kevan to his tent. Ser Gregor met them on the way, slamming down the visor of his greathelm. The two men followed Tywin into his tent, where he spoke bluntly. “We are in a dire situation.” Tywin Lannister had been fighting wars for longer than Alyssa Tully had been alive, and so as soon as he heard of what had befallen the eastern camp, he knew instantly the situation he was in. 

 

“Half our force is cut off across the Tumblestone, and they cannot rejoin us unless they come to battle with Alyssa Tully, which would be utter foolishness or march around, taking weeks. With Lord Serrett’s defeat, a third of our force is lost, we are cut off from our base at Stone Hedge and our siege has been broken.” 

 

He paused, loath to admit defeat. “Our campaign in the Riverlands has failed. But a campaign is not a war. With the hosts they put into the field, the Tullys must be nearing the edge of their manpower. We, however, have not even tapped into our reserves. We have thousands of troops waiting to be called upon, and I have already sent orders to muster a new host. 

 

Within a few moons, we should be joined by thousands more, I predict enough to double our current numbers, giving us the strength to finish off the weakened Tully forces.” 

 

Rising from his seat, Tywin moved to a nearby table, where already set up, he had a small map of the Riverlands laid out, which he used to plan his campaign. As the two men listened, he demonstrated their next move with calm, precise movements of his hand.

 

“Until our reinforcements arrive, we hold our ground here. The high riverbank is ours, and with the woods giving us cover, we have enough men to deny any enemy force crossing. Should she attack us, she will pay a heavy price. Lord Lefford will have similar orders to prevent any attempt north of the Tumblestone.” 

 

Tywin would have continued, but at that moment, the thundering of hooves alerted him to a man riding full speed into the middle of the camp, stopping so suddenly he was nearly thrown from the saddle. Head snapping up and eyes hardening as he glared at the man who dared to interrupt his thoughts, Tywin burst from his tent, freezing in his tracks when he saw the man’s surcoat. 

 

_ A golden sun and mountain. A rider of the Golden Tooth.  _

 

Dismounting so fast he all but leapt from the saddle, the Lefford armsman knelt in front of Tywin, while a sigh from behind him indicated the end of his exhausted horse; falling to the ground dead, having given its all for its rider in one heroic effort. The man glanced up at Tywin, who flicked his hand impatiently.

 

“Stand.”

 

The messenger got to his feet, but was apparently waiting for permission from Tywin before he delivered his message.  _ Or else _ , thought Tywin with a sinking feeling in his stomach,  _ he fears to deliver it, for he knows the news is ill. _ Judging from the man’s ashen face and trembling hands, it was the latter. Teeth gritted in anticipation, Tywin nodded at him. “Speak. What word does Lord Lefford send?”

 

Clasping his hands together in an attempt to hide their trembling, the rider was reluctant, but could do nothing but follow Lord Tywin’s order. “Ill news, my lord. Yesterday, the outriders encountered the Northern host three days north of Lord Lefford’s camp.” Even Tywin’s iron control could not hide his horror at a blow like this, and his eyes widened as the messenger confirmed his fears while his men gasped and began to mutter amongst themselves. “The Starks have come.”

 

For a moment, Tywin felt his senses overtaken by shock, before the iron control he was known for reasserted itself, and he strode into his tent, gesturing for the rider to follow him. Glancing at the peacock piece east of Riverrun, he took it away with a flick of his wrist, placing a dolphin there instead. Rummaging through the chest of pieces for a moment, Tywin added a wolf piece north of the Tumblestone, facing the sun. 

 

With the forces now arranged, Tywin examined the situation. The news was not good. With the loss of the eastern camp, a third of his army was gone. Of his remaining forces, Lord Lefford had four thousand men encamped north of the Tumblestone, while Tywin himself had slightly more than that.

 

Tywin stared at the dolphin piece as if he could set it aflame with his very gaze. By his best estimate, Alyssa Tully had something like fourteen thousand men east of the Red Fork. Far more than he had, and enough to outnumber either camp three to one. That in itself was not insurmountable; the west bank was higher than the east, and if the two Lannister camps could prevent her crossing, they had the numbers to bleed her should she try and force her way across. The addition of the Stark host however, changed all that.

 

_ Lord Lefford can’t hold the Red Fork to the east if he’s being attacked from the north. The Tullys will push across the river and strike him in the flank while he’s distracted, and then we’ll be alone, vastly outnumbered and surrounded on two sides. Alyssa Tully will march her men back over the Red Fork, move south and press west to attack us, while the Starks cross the Tumblestone to hit us from the north.  _

 

_ If we don’t act, and act quickly, this war will be lost as soon as the Starks arrive. _

 

Thinking quickly, Tywin seized upon his last ray of hope, that Lord Lefford might have the numbers to hold the Stark host at bay.

 

“Did the outriders say how many Starks there were?” Tywin asked, trying to keep the hope from his voice.

 

The answer he received, however, swiftly dashed those hopes to pieces. “Many, my lord. Thousands, tens of thousands. Their best guess is twenty thousand.”

 

_ Twenty thousand. Lord Lefford can’t stand against those numbers for even a day, they have him five to one. _

 

If Tywin had had any hair left, he would have been pulling it out at this point. Glancing over the map again, he considered his options, looking at each possibility in turn. He glanced over Lannister-held castles and Tully ones that might have weak garrisons, but eventually he shook his head.

 

_ No castle in the Riverlands can hold a host of eight thousand but Harrenhal, and Alyssa Tully’s host blocks our route there. If we took shelter in any other castle, we’d be pinning ourselves in one place and making it a simple task to surround and besiege us; we’d never leave alive. No, there’s nothing for it. We must retreat back to the Westerlands. _

 

With a sigh, Tywin turned to the waiting Lefford armsman. “Take a horse and ride back across the Tumblestone. Order Lord Lefford to strike his camp and march west. Two days march from here, the Tumblestone narrows and slows enough to attempt a crossing at a shallow ford there. He is to bring his men over to join ours, before we withdraw to the Golden Tooth.”

 

Audibly, the rider gulped. “My lord…” he trailed off, and Tywin knew the worst was yet to come.

 

“Out with it” he ordered, his patience visibly running out.

 

Heaving a deep breath and setting his shoulders, Lord Lefford’s messenger delivered the final blow. “My lord, the outriders were spotted by the Starks. They altered their course to block our escape, Lord Lefford predicts they’ll reach the ford in three days at their current speed.”

 

“Three days.” Tywin’s voice was equal parts disbelief and frustration.

 

“Two days actually, my lord” the rider said, smiling sheepishly in the face of the furious glare Lord Tywin sent his way. “It...took me a day to ride here.”

 

_ Two days.  _ Tywin ran the numbers in his head for a moment.  _ Lord Lefford won’t reach the ford in time.  _ Clenching his fist in anger, Tywin gave his orders.

 

“Tell Lord Lefford he is to make for the ford with all haste. Have them take what supplies they can carry, and leave the remainder behind. Burn the food, take the gold but leave the weapons and armor intact, hopefully all that good steel will distract his pursuers. Wounded who cannot ride are to be given mercy, any men who cannot keep up are to be left behind.” 

 

The man bowed briefly and left the tent, while Tywin snarled like the lion on his banner and slammed his fist onto the table, control pushed beyond the breaking point. After a moment, he breathed deeply, ignoring all else around him as he counted to ten in his mind before exhaling slowly. Repeating the process a few times found his mind clearing, the exercise he had developed while dealing with countless fools as Hand of the King once again proving its worth.

 

After a few moments, he nodded to himself and turned to his brother and Ser Gregor, both waiting patiently while their lord calmed himself, not daring to say a word in the face of his rage.

 

“Ser Gregor” the Mountain looked up at this. “You will remain behind and guard the riverbank. You will have two thousand men.”  His eyes went cold, the same eyes Ellyn Tarbeck had seen when she refused to open her gates. “I have underestimated the Tully girl twice already. I will not give her a third chance. She does not have the troops to take the Tooth, and I will dispatch a warning raven to Hornvale should she think to try the Gold Road. If she still wants to fight, let her fight in our land on our terms.”

 

The big man left, and Tywin looked up to see his brother standing there, ready to serve as always. Suddenly, Lord Tywin felt his age. “Leave me Kevan, I wish to be alone for a while. Have the men start breaking camp, oh and have last night’s scouts killed.” 

 

Tywin was surprised to see his brother bow his head in shame. “Last night’s scouts have not returned, my lord. Their commander was drunk, and did not inform me until recently, but the scouts have been disappearing over the last few days.” Tywin gritted his teeth.  _ So much lost from one man’s incompetence. _

 

“Give him to Ser Gregor and organise the withdrawal.”

 

“Of course, my lord.”

 

Kevan Lannister bowed and left, and Lord Tywin sat there in thought for a few moments, before he left his tent, staring out through the woods.  At length, he tipped his head towards the eastern camp, watching grimly as the Lannister banner fell, to be replaced by the Tully trout. “You win this round girl, but the game continues.”

 

An hour after the last Lannister men left, the sun broke through the low-hanging clouds to illuminate the east bank of the Red Fork, revealing the thousands of men camping there. Though the tents were the colour of fresh cream, displaying the proud peacock of Serrett on the sides, the banners hanging over the camp were the Tully dolphin, the Mallister eagle, Frey towers and many others, signalling it was under the control of the Lords of the Trident.

 

Alyssa Tully stretched as she got up from her rest. As expected from something purchased with Lannister gold, her captured bedroll was of finest wool and cloth, much better than the one she had thrown into the trench along with others in her host to fill it. She broke her fast, enjoying the fact that she could eat as much as she wanted, within reason. Ser Damon and the supply train should arrive near dusk, and ease the burden of feeding near fifteen thousand mouths. It was as she was pulling on her mail that her uncle burst into the tent. Startled, her dagger was half out of its sheath before she realized who it was. “Seven Hells, Uncle, you scared me half to death. What’s so important?” 

 

Brynden Tully’s face was bright, her uncle was happier than Alyssa had seen in years. “They’re running, my lady.”

 

“Who’s running?” She shrugged the shirt of blue oiled steel over her head, strapping the belt around it. “Speak sense, Uncle.”

 

“The Lannisters. We had word from one of our scouts in the woods. The western camp started packing up to leave, they broke the siege and marched west an hour ago, following the Tumblestone towards the western border.”

 

“Towards the western border.” Alyssa called up the map of the area in her mind, picturing the northern and western camps, on opposite sides of the impassable river.  _ Not entirely impassable, though _ , she reminded herself harshly. “Two days west of Riverrun, the Fisherman’s Ford is shallow enough to bring wagons and horses over the Tumblestone. There, the northern camp will cross and unite with the forces from the western camp, uniting the Lannisters and allowing them to meet us in the field.” 

 

The corner of her mouth tilted up. “But until they reach it, the two Lannister armies are cut off from one another and lacking the strength to face us. This is our chance, we must move now and strike them before they can reach the Ford. Leave a small force to guard the prisoners, and pack up camp quickly. Anything we can’t pack up within an hour will be left behind.”

 

Time of the essence, Ser Brynden nodded shortly and left the tent. Alyssa could have sworn she saw him limping, but dismissing it from her mind, she quickly belted on her sword belts as Olyvar Frey entered, and Alyssa set him to work packing up the tent as she left to organize the pursuit. Within the hour, most of the tents were packed up, leaving only enough the prisoners and the two hundred Vance men left behind to guard them. Alyssa swung into her saddle, waiting impatiently for her uncle to mount his own horse so they could be off.

 

Brynden Tully approached his horse, moving more slowly than Alyssa had expected. Looking at her uncle more closely, she could see he was in fact limping, his strides uneven. In a flash, Alyssa’s thoughts went back to that shallow cut on her uncle’s leg. As Brynden put a foot in his stirrup and attempted to pull himself into the saddle, he grimaced in pain and fell back.

 

As her uncle collapsed, Alyssa got off her own horse as quickly as she could, moving towards him. Brynden was already getting up when she reached his side, taking her offered hand and pulling himself to his feet, wincing as he did so. One look at her worried face had Brynden reassuring his worried niece.

 

“No need for concern, Alyssa” Brynden chuckled. “It's just a slight wound, I’ve had and fought with far worse.”

 

He tried to mount his horse again, but found himself unable to, and Jason Mallister, another experienced campaigner, knelt over him, examining the red seeping through Brynden’s ringmail, before he shook his head once. 

 

“He’s right, my lady, it is not serious, however it is painful for him. It will heal with a day or two’s rest, but as long as Ser Brynden keeps putting weight on it, it will continue to pain him. He is not fit to ride or fight today.”

 

Alyssa fixed her uncle with a penetrating stare, and after a moment, the Blackfish sighed. “I thought it was nothing, or that I could keep going despite it. This is the end of war; your moment of triumph, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He grimaced as he put weight on his leg without meaning to. “Not that it seems I have a choice now.” 

 

Alyssa offered her uncle her arm, and Ser Brynden put his weight on her shoulder gratefully, Alyssa grunting under the weight of the armoured Blackfish. Strangely, Brynden seemed to be jerking his head towards Lord Jason, and then towards the horses, as if trying to tell him something. Whatever it was, the Lord of Seagard clearly understood, as his eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak, but Lord Karyl Vance, the newest lord, beat him to it.

 

“My lady, if Ser Brynden cannot ride, then we must needs find another to take his place as commander of the outriders.” As soon as he had finished speaking, Lord Karyl slapped his hand over his mouth, as if to prevent the words from escaping, but it was too late, and Alyssa felt her blood freeze as she heard the words she dreaded to hear.

 

“I can command the outriders, my lady”.

 

Voice cheerful, Lord Karyl’s cousin, Ser Ronald Vance volunteered himself for the position, and mind working furiously, Alyssa tried to think of any way to reasonably deny him. The problem was that Ser Ronald Vance, heir to Atranta, was known as “Ronald the Bad” not for any cruel tendencies he might have displayed, but for his utter and complete incompetence at any and all martial matters.

 

The only reason he was here at all was that his father, Lord Norbert Vance of Atranta, was both too old to fight, and blind. Even then, Alyssa might have preferred him at times. Ser Ronald was a useless swordsman, and an incompetent battle commander. While he had commanded the archers at Riverhold, an admittedly vital position, Alyssa had given him such a post because it was the place where he could do the least damage.

 

Due to the specific training the archers had gone through in the month preceding the battle, they knew as a group exactly what they had to do, and so Ser Ronald had only to give the order to commence firing when he received the signal to do so; a task that fortunately, even he was capable of. Unfortunately, the archer’s success had led to Ser Ronald, as their commander, being praised as one of the heroes of Riverhold. This had given the incompetent knight the impression that he had been placed in command of the archers because he was the best man for the job, and given him an inflated sense of his own ability. 

 

The problem was, Alyssa couldn’t just turn him down for no reason. By custom, as the commander of the Atranta forces, Ser Ronald was entitled to a position of command if one was available, and to refuse him would be an insult. He would be totally justified in taking his men and returning to Atranta, and though he was one of Alyssa’s weakest allies, it would still open the floodgates for other lords to leave.

 

Her only chance, was to find someone else to lead the outriders, and due to custom, it had to be a noble. Obviously she couldn’t lead the scouts herself; she had to command the entire host as a whole. Lord Jason and Ser Stevron were southern knights, both preferring to fight while in heavy plate; unsuited for the leather and mail of outriders. Besides, Lord Jason was invaluable in his role as commander of the heavy foot; while Ser Stevron served well enough at the head of the knights.

 

Lord Karyl would have been ideal, but someone had to be left behind to command the forces remaining to guard the prisoners. Once Ser Damon arrived, his forces would be added to that command, and it would be insulting for Ser Damon to take orders from any but a lord. Desperately, Alyssa racked her brains for someone, anyone else who could take the command.

 

The only remaining noble was Ser Marq Piper, heir to Pinkmaiden, commanding the Piper forces in place of his lord father, holding Riverhold as castellan in Alyssa’s absence. A close friend of her brother’s, and a skilled swordsman, Ser Marq would have been ideal, but unfortunately Alyssa had no choice in this case.

 

_ Ser Ronald asked first; I can’t pass him over for a younger man of equal rank without causing insult. _

 

With a sigh, Alyssa admitted defeat.

 

“Very well, Ser Ronald, I name you commander of the outriders.” The heir to Atranta grinned and mounted his horse, Brynden smiling sympathetically at Alyssa, before she wrote out a letter and slammed her seal upon it, naming Lord Karyl commander of the camp, and ordering Lord Vypren to join his command and aid in guarding the prisoners. Handing it to Lord Karyl, the Lord of Wayfarer’s Rest swore that none would escape on his watch, and Alyssa accepted his pledge with a nod, before swinging into her saddle.

 

The west bank of the Red Fork river was higher than the east, with thick woods covering the top of the slope, stretching almost to the River Road. In other words, it was perfect territory to ambush an army crossing the river, and Alyssa knew that perfectly well. There was, after all, a reason why she had not wanted Ser Ronald to lead the outriders, but the die was cast, and praying to the Seven for this not to end badly, she sent him and his men to check out the bank and the woods, and see if any Lannister men were waiting there.

 

Brynden would have sent a few men up the bank, before spreading his men out in groups to search the woods, remaining close enough to each other to respond to any alarm. That way, if any ambushers were to surprise his scouts, the remainder would hear and come to help. Ser Ronald did not intend to waste his time like that, not when the Lannisters were clearly running from them. When his men encountered no resistance after riding halfway through the woods, he decided that they were clear and rode back to inform Alyssa.

 

Though hesitant to accept his word on things, Alyssa had no choice unless she wished to call him a liar in front of all present, and so reluctantly sent him first, with two thirds of the light cavalry. The remainder would stay with Ser Marq, as a reserve should the rear be attacked. Ser Ronald’s men were to journey through the woods, and along the River Road, attempting to discover the strength and location of the Lannister army.

 

As they rode off, Alyssa couldn’t help but feel worry gnawing at her insides. Signalling to Lord Jason Mallister, she sent him and his heavy infantry across the river after them. If Ser Ronald had missed some ambush lying in wait, then Lord Jason’s heavily armoured troops had a better chance than Vance’s lightly armoured horsemen in their leather and mail, and hopefully, could hold the enemy back long enough for the rest of her host to cross.


	25. Rivers, Trees and Mountains

Gregor Clegane may have been a dim, brutal man, but he knew his business when it came to war. As soon as Lord Tywin ordered him to hold the riverbank, he made his preparations, using the dense woods to hide his men. Normally it was hard to keep two thousand men quiet for more than a few minutes, but after Gregor had casually cut the head off a man who complained about being cold and asked to light a fire, the Lannister and Prester men under his command had made barely a sound.

 

Though the sight of Tully outriders had sorely tempted him, he knew that acting too early would spoil everything, and so he held himself and his men in check. His patience was rewarded, when minutes later, the sound of many more horsemen echoed through the woods, along with, Gregor could scarcely believe, singing.

 

These soon to be dead fools, led by the same idiot who had headed the scouting band, were riding through the woods gaily without a care in the world as if they were in an open meadow, singing knightly songs and japing amongst themselves about killing lions and the ransom owed to the man who seized Lord Tywin. Lips curling inside his greathelm, Gregor raised his arm.

 

It happened so quickly, Ser Ronald’s men didn’t know what had struck them. A monstrous voice roared a command, and screaming battlecries, Lannister men spilled out from between the trees, striking at the Tully horsemen, exposed and left without cover or way of retreat on the narrow path, wide enough only for three horsemen abreast.

 

Prester men emerged from behind them to block the retreat, and while Ser Ronald’s men fought gamely, lashing out with sword, axe and mace, the sound of pounding hooves alerted them to a greater threat, heading straight towards them at full charge. Knowing full well that horses were much louder than men, the Mountain had ordered the two hundred knights under his command to remain on the other side of the woods, waiting by the River Road for his order. 

 

When it came, for the Mountain could shout loudly indeed when he wanted to, the knights had begun their charge through the woods, riding down the narrow path with lances lowered. The path’s confines rendered numbers almost meaningless, as it was so narrow that only three could face one another at a time, but heavy cavalry was light cavalry’s worst enemy. With their barded warhorses and heavier plate armour, the sheer weight of the Lannister 

knights made any clash between them and the more lightly armoured Tully cavalry no contest.

 

Hundreds died from the sheer shock of that charge, Ser Ronald among them, the heir to Atranta only able to scream at the sight of his imminent death before a lance drove through his throat. Hundreds more were unhorsed, and promptly killed by the footmen surrounding them. Many more tried to retreat, only to be crushed by their fellows behind them as the Prester men stubbornly held their ground, refusing to allow the enemy to escape.

 

Within minutes, the entirety of Ser Ronald’s force was gone, the only casualties on the Mountain’s side a few Prester footmen who hadn’t broken to the sides quickly enough when the knights charge had cut through the Tully horsemen’s rear ranks. Rather than have them retreat, Gregor signalled for them to continue forward, and understanding his intent, the knights broke into a gallop once again, this time meaning to charge down the higher bank and devastate Lord Mallister’s infantry, wet and cold from having just crossed the river.

 

The moment Jason Mallister heard screams coming from the woods, he knew something was wrong. He had already ordered his men to form up by the time he heard pounding hooves coming his way. When the Lannister knights appeared from the woods, his men were already well prepared to receive their charge. Shields locked together, pikes and spears were braced and shoulders were braced.

 

Gregor Clegane’s two hundred knights could never shatter the ranks of Lord Jason’s footmen, which outnumbered them seven or eight to one. However If they struck an unguarded flank, it might be a different story. But the Tullys would have to be deaf not to hear them coming.To that end, Clegane had separated his own light cavalry into two wings and had them waiting at the sides of the woods. When he sent in his knights, he ordered the light cavalry to charge as well. Carrying less weight and on faster horses, the light cavalry reached the Mallister ranks first, and struck from each flank, attacking the sides of their formation. 

 

As expected, the Mallisters turned to accept the charges, meeting the attacking horsemen with thrusts of spears and heavy pikes. Screams of dying men and horses echoed carried across the water, while Ser Gregor watched without any hint of sympathy. This was after all, exactly what he had wanted.  

 

Across the river, Alyssa Tully cursed Ser Ronald as she ordered Ser Stevron Frey and her knights across the river to support Lord Jason, while she followed with what remained; lightly armoured footmen, and archers. 

 

Lord Jason struck down a horseman who tried to use his lance like a spear, before wondering what the seven hells the Mountain was thinking when he ordered this attack. Glancing around, his eyes opened wide in shock and he opened his mouth to curse. He never got the chance. Just as Gregor had coldly predicted, the attack of the light cavalry had drawn the Mallister men to the sides to repel them. Engaged with the unfortunate horsemen, Lord Jason’s men were unable to extract themselves in time to deal with the real threat; the Mountain’s knights and too late the Mallister men scrambled to form up and prevent their charge as they smashed into his centre like an axe.

 

Hundreds of Lord Jason’s men died in the first moments of that charge, ridden under by the sheer weight of the knights, the battered remains of the light cavalry using the distraction to escape, but after that things began to change. The sheer weight of Lord Jason’s numbers allowed him to stand against the charge, and as the knights lost momentum, the Mallisters smoothly folded around them.

 

It was then that the commander of the Lannister knights realized just how much danger he and his men were in. A charging knight was a fearsome thing, the weight of armor, horse and rider, along with the momentum of the charge combining to deliver a devastating blow to whatever was unlucky enough to receive the attack. A stationary knight, however, was nothing more than a soon-to-be corpse in heavy armor, sitting high off the ground where he could be attacked from all directions, on a comparatively fragile horse that could be cut from under him.

 

Determined to avenge their slain comrades, the Mallister men hacked ruthlessly through the trapped knights, while the commander of the light cavalry attempted to wheel his men around and take Lord Jason in the flank in an attempt to save the knights. However, he soon found that he had his own problems as Ser Stevron Frey, at the head of nearly fifteen hundred knights, charged through the shallow waters towards the outnumbered and under equipped Lannister light cavalry.

 

Lances pierced mail and longswords flashed as Ser Stevron’s knights rode down the outnumbered Lannister cavalry, but they weren’t dying without a fight. Having worked out quickly that his men lacked the ability to pierce the heavy plate armor worn by the Frey knights, the commander had instead ordered them to aim for the horses, which was met with far more success.

 

No matter how good the barding, armour on a horse is never as good as armour on a man, and so the Lannister cavalrymen were easily able to find gaps, gaps they drove into with axe and sword. Horses screamed in agony and collapsed, their riders flung from the saddle, only to find with horror that the weight of their armor held them down.

 

Ser Stevron himself was unhorsed by the Prester horsemen commanding the Lannister cavalry, a longsword driven into his horse’s belly, and lying face-up on the riverbed, he found himself trapped under his dead horse. Vainly trying to free himself from the weight pressing him into the soft mud, his hands reaching into the air, the heir to the Crossing could do nothing but scream helplessly in rage and fear and watch his life slip away from him in the form of his bubbles trickling to the surface.

 

While Ser Stevron’s charge had led to his own death, it had succeeded in its goal of preventing the light cavalry from aiding the doomed knights, and even now Lord Mallister’s men were dealing with them, causing Ser Gregor to clench his fist at the sight of his elite shock troops being slaughtered.

 

“Archers.”

 

From the edge of the woods, hundreds of bowmen emerged, fitting arrows to the strings. Gregor roared a command, and their bows bent and then straightened, sending hundreds of arrows towards the unfortunate Mallister men. As the bowmen nocked again, the Mountain gave another order, and the scorpions were wheeled into view. Gregor watched with satisfaction as they were trained on Lord Jason himself, before his hand chopped down and the bolts were released.

 

Lord Mallister didn’t know what had happened. One moment he was sinking his sword into the open visor of a Lannister knight, and the next he was shoved violently to the ground by one of his own men. Before he could do anything but look up, a massive wooden projectile tore through the man’s plate, mail and through his chest, and he collapsed with a metre-long shaft protruding through him.

 

More of Jason’s men screamed or lifted their shields as a volley of arrows came from the woods, striking men not quick enough to defend themselves. Jason noted absently that the arrows were only aimed at the edge of his ranks, as if the Mountain were attempting to save the few remaining knights trapped in the centre.

 

Alyssa Tully meanwhile, was making her own way across the river with her remaining forces when she saw the archers. Swiftly, she gave an order, and nearly two thousand archers notched their own arrows, careful not to let the shallow water they stood in wet their bowstrings. At her command, they loosed, arrows aimed at the Lannister archers and scorpion crew.

 

Alyssa gave their commander an order, and he nodded in understanding, having his men stay in place and continue to fire volleys at the Lannisters from the middle of the river, while Alyssa moved on over the river with her footmen to support Lord Jason.

 

Lord Jason however, needed no aid. With the arrow rain stopped as the Lannister archers were forced to seek cover, the Mallister men were able to return their attention to the knights in the middle of their ranks, and the last one was soon killed.

 

From his position in the woods, the Mountain clenched his fists at how the battle was faring. His cavalry were all but destroyed, and due to the sheer number of archers the Tullys had at their command, his own bowmen were forced to hide behind trees or in the thick of the woods, where the dense trees made accuracy all but impossible.

 

The Mountain who Rides didn’t run. He didn’t retreat, and he never failed his lord. Those distinctions were coming into conflict now, as Gregor Clegane knew that he could not remain where he was. Reluctantly, he ordered his men to retreat deeper into the woods, into the dense trees where an arrow wouldn’t fly five feet before being deflected by branches, and had them prepare to fight to the end.

 

Knowing that his ranged weapons would be useless in there, he picked up one scorpion and carried it with him, while he set fire to the others to deny them to the Tullys. He sent the scorpion with his archers, to the other side of the woods, to set up a last line of defence on the River Road should he need to retreat that far.

 

Seeing the Lannister men withdraw into the woods, Alyssa Tully gritted her teeth, knowing full well how bloody the coming fighting was about to be, but with no other option, she positioned her archers on the bank in case the Mountain should try some sort of sneak attack, sent Ser Marq around the edges of the wood with the reserve, and ordered her knights to dismount, before leading them into the woods after the Lannisters.

 

What followed was beyond brutal. Fighting in the thick of the trees there was no room anymore for unit tactics or strategy, weapons became tangled, this was close combat, with knives, short blades, axes and swords. Alyssa herself had little trouble, though she was forced to take a little more care with her longsword attacks, but many on both sides found their greatsword or spear stopped by the trees before they abandoned it in favour of a belt knife.

 

In this sort of combat, armour became the difference between life and death. Plate and greathelm protected better than leather and ringmail, and the dismounted knights on both sides found it the easiest; shrugging off blows that wounded or killed those less protected. Throughout the woods, Tully and Lannister men were struggling, with hundreds dying on each side, but for a moment none could tell who would be victorious. Soon the fighting moved into a small clearing which allowed limited use of group tactics once again, and the Lannisters quickly formed a wedge, bringing what spears they had to front, shields locked. 

 

“Hold you fucking cowards, hold!” Glancing in the direction of the voice, Alyssa was shocked to see the largest man she had ever seen, fighting under the banner of three black dogs on a yellow field. This could be none other than Gregor Clegane.  _ The Mountain that Rides. Tywin Lannister’s mad dog.  _ Ignoring the press of the trees, the Mountain was swinging a greatsword in one hand; dealing with the tight quarters by the simple method of chopping through branches and trunks impeding his swings. His strength was immense.

Remembering her promise to Lady Roote, fear ran through Alyssa, but she bit her lip angrily.  _ Get a hold of yourself, if you kill him the fight will go out of the Lannisters.  _ Drawing her shortsword as well, she pushed through the woods with renewed vigour, intending to cut her way to the Mountain. The Lannister shield wall defied her; thrice she drove against it land thrice she was wounded and repelled. A spear took her across the face, scraping over the nosepiece of her half-helm and leaving a long cut on her cheek. A spear took her in the chest, fortunately failing to penetrate her ringmail but leaving her winded.  _ Cracked a rib, maybe.  _ The third time was the most serious; a sword slashed down her exposed lower arm, her shortsword dropping to the ground as she cursed. As she retreated, she gave the wound a quick look. It hurt and looked worse than it was; a long deep cut, but it had missed anything vital. Swiftly binding it with a torn piece of her cloak, she drew her dagger with her left hand.

 

The sound of armoured men approaching drew a quick flick of her eyes, and once she saw the silver eagle of Seagard, Alyssa returned her attention to the battle. Lord Jason Mallister drew level with her, flanked by twenty armoured footmen. While she could not see, under his helm she was sure the Lord of Seagard was smiling. “They know their business, I’ll give them that, my lady.”

 

“Their line is too strong!” Stiffly, Alyssa parried a sword thrust with her dagger, wincing as it put pressure on her injured arm, then ran the swordsman through with Bloodclaw in response. “We can’t break it!” A spear thrust under her outstretched arm, taking a Prester in the side a second before he would have slammed his axe into her chest. Alyssa gave a grateful nod to the Mallister spearman, before she returned the favour by slashing through the armor of a knight whose plate the spearman was unable to pierce. Unable to retrieve his spear, the Mallister man released the shaft and pulled a mace from his belt, laying about him with a will. Alyssa turned her head slightly towards Lord Jason. “Any ideas would be welcome right now, my lord”

 

One of the wings on Lord Jason’s helm collapsed as he twisted away from the swing of a mace that would have crushed his skull, and he cut the man down before replying. “We hold, my lady. We keep at them and we hold. Only the gods know how this will end.”

 

Alyssa opened her mouth to reply, but whatever she was going to say was drowned out by the sound of trumpets coming from the east. She looked sharply at Lord Mallister. “Enemy reinforcements?”

 

The older Lord shook his head briefly. “Look, my lady.” He pointed to the Mountain, still visible fighting in the centre of the clearing, whose own confusion was evident on his massive face. “Those are too distant to be Lannister reinforcements. No, from the sound of it, they are coming from” he paused, and he and Alyssa met each other’s eyes as the same thought struck them both. “Riverrun.”

 

The Mountain evidently came to that conclusion moments later, because he began bellowing orders to the archers, barely visible at the edge of the clearing. Alyssa distantly noted to herself that their fighting had taken them nearly all the way to the other side of the woods. Here, the trees were not as thick, and men were able to fight with longer weapons again. This realization came from having to duck a greatsword swung at her neck, before she ran him through with Bloodclaw.

 

Minutes later, the trumpets rang again and Edmure Tully burst out of the woods at the head of a column of knights. As they galloped proudly out, Alyssa smiled at the sight of her brother in bright mail, leading the forces of Riverrun to strike the Mountain in the rear. Then her smile faded. What she had taken to be the start of his column was in fact the entire column. The siege had obviously required his men to find alternate sources of food, as only a hundred or so of his knights were mounted, with another four hundred or so running alongside the pikemen. Edmure and his hundred knights led the ragged charge, with less than a thousand footmen behind him, mainly dismounted knights or peasants pressed into service. 

 

Alyssa wanted to scream in rage.  _ This force is not enough to break through, Edmure is leading his men to their deaths.  _ Before she could act, Edmure was charging straight at the Mountain, aiming to cut his way to the yellow dog banner and slay their leader. Horrified, she watched as the big man gave a signal and hundreds of bows sang their deadly song. Edmure’s charge disintegrated instantly, men shouting in fear as their horses were shot from under them, while horses screamed in agony. Somehow Edmure retained his seat, now surrounded by less than twenty knights, as his horse reared in fear. 

 

The world seemed to move slowly to Alyssa as the Mountain waved his sword, signalling to the scorpion. Unable to reach him, she was drawing breath to scream a warning as the second scorpion fired. The heavy iron bolt took Edmure’s horse in the chest as it reared, punching through its barding and piercing its flesh. The horse tumbled to the ground, Edmure seeming to fall from the saddle. However, as he fell, his leg caught in the stirrup and twisted with an audible crack. With a scream of agony, her brother’s head struck the ground and he lay still, facedown on the road.

 

Alyssa screamed wordlessly and ran forward, determined to slay the Mountain single-handedly. Even as she seemed to move slowly, one stride at a time, the Mountain’s men charged forward, determined to slay her brother’s leaderless footmen. She made it one more stride forward before a hand seized her arm, and the world seemed to return to normal as she wildly turned her head to see Lord Jason Mallister, ruined helm at his feet, holding her in an iron grip. “You can’t help him if you’re dead, my lady.”

 

Gasping as tears ran down her face, she nodded. “What...what do we do then?”

 

Lord Jason’s face set firmly. “We use the time he has given us. The Mountain’s men and siege weapons are mainly faced towards Ser Edmure. If we reform our host and push through the trees, we might be able to break through this time, but it has to be now, before he finishes with Ser Edmure’s men.”

 

“All...all right.” Alyssa tried to control her breathing, to turn her grief into rage and channel it into her sword arm. She cut her way back to where she had dropped the horn and sounded it again. “Lords of the Trident! Rivermen! To me! For Tully and Riverrun! To me men of the Riverlands!” Lord Mallister added his own shouts to hers, and soon she had a fighting wedge of around three hundred formed, the remainder still engaged with Lannisters. With a scream of grief and rage, she led the charge towards the Mountain’s lines, Lord Jason and the men of Seagard by her side. 

 

As she approached, a spear thrust out at her. A slash of the crimson blade took off the point, and she drove her dagger into the man’s throat, kicking him off her blade. Lord Jason’s longsword opened the ringmail over the throat of a second, spilling blood over the dogs on his surcoat. A Tully man brought down a third and fourth with two mighty sweeps of a warhammer, and that was all that was needed. The Lannister line looked to reform for a moment, but the next two Mallisters brought down another man each with axe and spear, and then the forces of Seagard and Riverhold surged through the gap. 

 

Alyssa laid about herself with longsword and dagger, screaming battlecries as she struck. A red rage had taken over her, and she had no sense of what she was doing, she just wanted to kill Lannisters, any westerman was enough for her as she cut and thrust. Lord Jason was in greater control of his senses; surrounded by retainers, the Lord of Seagard and his men were an armoured spearhead that pushed calmly through the fighting. Unlike Alyssa’s blind rush, Lord Mallister’s advance was calm and calculated; every step took him in the right direction and every man killed was one less blocking his way as he steadily cut his way towards the Mountain.

 

Surrounded by a personal guard as he was, moving deliberately in a bloody melee where most people were wildly fighting to survive, it did not take the Mountain long to spot Lord Jason’s advance, and with a roar of glee, the Mountain advanced. Sweeps of his greatsword cleared men from his path, while his heavy oaken shield that may or may not have started life as a wagon wheel, proved an almost impenetrable wall; not a single blow touched him. Very soon, the two men met in the centre of the clearing. As if by mutual agreement, both sides backed off a metre or two to give them room to fight. Lord Jason opened the duel. With a cry of “Above the Rest”, he moved forward and slashed his longsword towards the Mountain’s neck. Ser Gregor raised his shield lazily to block, and Jason turned his attack into a thrust, driving his blade into the Mountain’s breastplate. Like his namesake, Gregor Clegane stood motionless as the blade bounced off his chest, before laughter could be heard from inside the enormous helm.

 

“My turn.” The huge blade swung up, and Lord Jason raised his own shield, bracing himself as the greatsword came down faster than a man of the Mountain’s size should be able to move. Against his will, he grunted as the force of the blow drove him back two steps. He felt the shock through his arm, and instinctively, he flexed it to make sure his arm was not broken. From what he could tell, the bone was intact, but his arm would have the largest bruise he’d ever had in the morning, if he survived until then. Knowing he couldn’t take another hit like that, he backed off a pace or two, yanked the shield from his arm and tossed it to the ground, gripping his sword in both hands. Ser Gregor didn’t even try to follow, simply watching with his head cocked slightly to the side. After all, it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen this a hundred times before. 

 

He knew what would happen next as if it had already happened. The purple-cloaked Lord lashed out at his legs, jumping aside to avoid Gregor’s return cut. Many a man had tried to dance around the Mountain and wait for him to tire, and all of them ended the same way. Mallister stepped to avoid a thrust, then came in from the right, trying to strike the joint at Gregor’s shoulder before the Mountain could parry. He didn’t even try. Raising his great shield, he cleft Mallister over the head. The iron bound oak split skin and caused blood to run into the older man’s eyes. Mallister stumbled back, eyes unfocused and clearly stunned from the blow. Shakily, he raised his sword in a defensive pose. Snorting to himself, Gregor raised his sword over his shoulder, before bringing it down in a vicious blow designed to split the Lord of Seagard from shoulder to hip. Desperately, Lord Jason parried, swinging at the Mountain’s greatsword with all his might.

 

Steel rang on steel as the larger blade met Jason’s sword, knocking it from his grasp without losing any speed or power. Jason was forced to throw himself backwards to dodge the blow. Shaking his head to try and clear it, he looked for his sword, only to see it disappear into the mass of fighting men. Automatically, he reached to his belt and slid his short-hafted axe free. The Mountain laughed at the sight of the two foot axe compared to his five foot greatsword. “I think we’re done now.” Lord Jason gripped his axe, determined not to die like a coward, but as he jumped over a low slash aimed to take him off at the knees, he knew he was doomed.

 

Alyssa had lost sight of Lord Jason and his men when she carved her way madly through the Lannister host, but Gregor Clegane was a hard sight to miss. At nearly seven feet tall, even through the melee his head and shoulders stood above the sea of battling men. The Mountain reached the centre of the battlefield, and the men there moved away a pace or two as he began duelling someone. Alyssa was unable to make out who, but as she turned away to deal with a persistent spearmen attempting to run her through, the sounds coming from the duel did not bode well for the poor fool attempting to face the Mountain. As she struck towards the Mountain, Clegane advanced, sword swinging and the men nearly fell over each other in their haste to get away from him. For a moment, the line wavered and Alyssa could clearly see Lord Jason Mallister, shield and sword lost, facing off against the Mountain with a totally inadequate hand axe.

 

Lord Jason was arguably House Tully’s most loyal bannerman, and Alyssa had known him the longest, having fought beside him at Harlaw docks. With renewed purpose and restored focus, she hacked her way towards the ring of men that served as their makeshift arena. She was unsure of what she could do to help, but she could not just let Lord Jason die. Unfortunately, the ring of men surrounding the fight was packed too tightly together for her to cut her way through, the Mountain’s men fully aware of what he would do to them if they allowed someone to interfere, and she was unable to penetrate it. The Valyrian blade lashed out in arcs, severing spears, shields and slicing through armor, but as fast as she struck a man down, two took their place. A hail of sword blows eventually drove her into retreat, unable to break through and nursing a new cut on her sword arm.

 

Glancing over to the duel revealed that Lord Jason was still alive, but was now backed up against the ring of men surrounding the fight, and the only reason the Mountain’s men had not yet cut him down from behind was their master’s orders that “he’s mine!” Dodging another blow, resulting in screams as the Mountain cut two of his own men in half, Lord Jason refused to yield, gamely lashing out with his axe at the Mountain’s wrist. Had he been the size of a normal man, with armor to match, the blow would have left a large bruise on his wrist at the very least.  As it was, the Mountain’s plate armor was so thick and heavy a normal man could not even walk while wearing it. The axe bounced off, and the return blow swept so close that Lord Jason barely twisted in time and avoided death by an inch, the thrust passing under his arm. He struck out again, the axe blade leaving a tiny, nearly invisible dent in the enormous helm. Ser Gregor just laughed.

 

_ Lord Jason can’t penetrate that armor _ , Alyssa realized with a stab of despair.  _ He can hack away at him for weeks, but that axe will lose its edge before the Mountain loses a drop of blood. _ Absently, she batted aside a bastard sword and struck the wielder across the chest, opening his plate, his mail and his chest.  _ If he had a weapon that could harm the Mountain, he might be victorious, but nothing could break that armor except perhaps Valyrian steel, and I don’t think House Mallister has a Valyrian steel sword.  _ Suddenly, she froze as an idea struck her, nearly resulting in her death as an axeman attempted to take advantage. She buried her dagger in his throat, and yanked the blade out as he crumpled. She thought quickly;  _ this is a long shot, but it’s the only chance he has.  _ Spinning Bloodclaw in her hand, she grasped it like a spear, drew her arm back and hurled it as hard as she could towards the fighting men. As it left her hand, Alyssa raised her voice, shouting as loudly as she could and praying she was heard over the noise of battle. “Lord Jason!”

 

Jason Mallister was beginning to think that challenging the Mountain without a castle wall between them and a scorpion to hand was perhaps the most foolish decision of his entire life, when a scream caused both men to instinctively turn their heads towards the source. A flash of light caught his eye, growing steadily larger and the Mountain jumped back as something stabbed into the ground where he had been. Jason blinked in shock, as he recognized the object. It was a sword. 

 

_ Wait, a sword…  _ Before the Mountain could react, Jason dashed past him and pulled it from the earth. Turning the blade in his hand, he was shocked to see a gold lion on the hilt. The blade was blood-red, and with a sudden jolt he realized where he’d seen this sword before, in Lady Alyssa’s hand.  _ This is the Valyrian steel sword of House Lannister. Valyrian steel… hmm.  _ The Lord of Seagard smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. 

 

The Mountain pointed at the sword. “That belongs to Lord Tywin.”

 

Swiping the blade in the air to test the weight and balance, Lord Jason Mallister calmly shoved his axe back into his belt with his free hand and levelled the point of the sword at the Mountain’s eyes. “Come and claim it for him, then.”

 

With a snarl, the Mountain advanced, bringing his blade up in a sweep mirroring the one that disarmed Lord Jason the first time, intended to do the same thing again. Jason Mallister was not a man to fall for the same trick twice. He stepped back and let the blade sweep past him, then ran forward, inside the sword’s range and slashed the blade down the Mountain’s chest. As the fine weapon moved, it felt like a feather in his hand and there was no resistance as it passed. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen, before a red line opened up across the Mountain’s chest and a large piece of his breastplate fell away as the cut began spraying blood.

 

Gregor Clegane shouted and swung his shield at Lord Jason, thrusting his sword where he judged Jason would dodge. Both strikes hit nothing but air. Experienced old soldier that he was, Jason had seen the trick coming and stepped the other way. Now it was the Mountain’s turn to worry as both his shield and sword were badly out of position. Seizing his chance, Lord Jason moved in close, grasped the sword in both hands and struck down, hard. The Valyrian steel parted plate, mail, flesh and bone like butter, leaving the Mountain’s shield arm hanging on by a small amount of skin, chain and plate. Lord Jason pulled the sword out and struck again, severing the remains of the Mountain’s left arm. The immense shield struck the ground with a thud, and the Mountain roared like the lions he served.

 

Gregor Clegane did not yield easily, and the mere loss of an arm did not deter him. He charged forward, massive sword descending in an arc intended to split the Lord of Seagard head to toe, or balls to brains as one of his men had crudely put it. The stroke swung past Jason as he sidestepped and buried itself deep in the earth. It was all the opening Jason needed. He moved forward and struck three quick blows. The first blow parted plate and mail, the second sliced through flesh and bone and the third broke through the armour on the other side.

 

The Mountain howled like a wounded dog as his right hand fell from his wrist, still clenched around the hilt of his sword, blade and hand sticking from the earth like some macabre victory banner. Jason staggered back, struck both by exhaustion and the impact of what had just happened. He had just downed the Mountain. Gregor Clegane, the infamous Mountain that Rides, was lying there at his feet, helpless and waiting for a mercy stroke. Not a cruel man, Lord Jason stepped forward and raised his blade to do just that, but suddenly found himself learning a hard lesson, that the Mountain was never helpless.

 

A defiant shout came from the massive helm, and Jason felt the Mountain’s legs close around him, twisting him off his feet.  Brought forcefully to the ground and crushed between the Mountain’s knees, he was helpless to prevent himself from being rolled over so that Gregor was now kneeling atop him. He raised his sword hand, only to realize that he had lost the Valyrian blade during his fall, before his head exploded in pain. Looking up through a haze of tears from his broken nose, he closed his eyes as something heavy and solid slammed into his skull again.

 

Groaning, he managed to open his eyes fully, and realized what he was being attacked by. While the Mountain’s left arm was severed at the elbow, his right had lost only a hand. While he could no longer wield weapons, the size and weight of the armor on that limb made it a weapon. Ser Gregor was lifting his arm and slamming it into Jason’s head like a lesser man would use a flail.  _ He means to beat me to death.  _ Another blow landed, and gritting his teeth against the pain, Lord Jason knew he couldn’t take this much longer.  _ Soon he will knock me senseless, and when he does, I am a dead man.  _

 

Twisting his head left and right in search of anything that could help, he felt a painful lump digging into his side, and out of the corner of his eye, caught a glimpse of metal. Then he realized what it was. Desperately rocking back and forth, he summoned all his strength and managed to tip the Mountain off him. Since the Mountain’s knees were still locked around his legs, that meant a lot of painful pressure on his waist, but Jason was blind to the world except for one thing. Now that the weight was off his chest, he lifted his chest enough to reach his belt, then pulled his axe and drove it into the stump at the end of the Mountain’s right arm in one effort. 

 

The roars cut off, replaced by gurgling, and panting in exertion Lord Jason got to his feet, the painful grip on his legs having been released. Looking around, he saw his sword lying a few feet away. Cautiously, never turning his back on the Mountain, as the pain in his legs was ample proof that even a crippled Gregor Clegane was still dangerous, he walked over and retrieved the weapon. Giving it a few test swings, he cautiously stayed out of the Mountain’s striking range as he raised the blade high above his head. The Mountain’s gorget had not been removed, but armour had never been a match for Valyrian steel. The sword flashed down, and Gregor Clegane’s head fell from his shoulders.

 

Breaths coming fast from his close call, Lord Jason picked up the ugly head and held it as high as he could, vision beginning to waver. “The Mountain is dead! Surrender, or join him!” He hurled the head to the ground and made to rejoin the battle, but he made it less than five feet before the world seemed to spin and he crumpled to the ground. With effort, he raised his hand to his head and found blood flowing from it, and quite a lot at that _.  _ He tried to rise, but found he had no strength and with a groan, darkness descended upon Jason Mallister.

 

Lord Jason’s act of courage was not without reward. Upon hearing his shout, the Lannister men gasped and the Tully men roared in triumph. With a longsword taken from a fallen Piper knight, Alyssa led the charge through the woods, heartened Tullys driving deep into the lines of the Lannisters. With their leader dead, the remaining Lannisters decided the woods weren’t worth dying for. Deserting in droves, they fled, desperately trying to get as far away from the battle as they could. They did not get far. Ser Marq Piper, at the head of the reserve struck the archers from the flank, cutting through them before continuing on to pursue the fleeing Lannister.

 

With the battle won, Alyssa turned to the next task, dealing with the wounded. There weren’t many wounded knights save those who had been injured in the woods themselves; the weight of their armor usually meant that being unhorsed in the river was a death sentence. The injured Mallister footmen were dragged up the bank, while Lannisters were left to the mercies of the gods and the Red Fork. The battle had been bloody, the slain bodies of Rivermen choking the river at one point.

 

Ser Ronald was dead, along with all the horsemen under his command. Ser Stevron Frey had fallen as well, alongside a few hundred of his knights. Ser Marq Piper had lost mayhaps a hundred of his reserve, but the foot had bled badly, both Lord Jason’s and Alyssa’s. The total number of dead was near about four thousand.

 

That figure struck Alyssa hard. Four thousand. That was four thousand men who would never see their families again. Four thousand wailing widows and thousands more crying children, who would never see their fathers, brothers or husbands again. Losing men was the reality of command, and Alyssa had began to see her forces as mere numbers, pieces to be moved around on a map, but looking at this carnage now, she did not feel like a victor.

 

“Four thousand.” Alyssa turned to see Ser Marq Piper, torn cloth wrapped around his leg, standing next to her, shaking his head at the sight. “Nearly a third of our entire host.”

 

Alyssa placed her head in her hands. “This victory came at too high a price.” Her head shot up as she suddenly remembered the reason for her mad charge, banished from her mind until now by Lord Jason’s predicament and the sheer number of her losses. “And my brother?”

 

Her heart sank as she saw Ser Marq’s eyes downcast. “His leg is broken, and badly. He needs a maester.”

 

“Many need maesters at the moment.” Tears filled Alyssa’s eyes as she looked around at the bodies of her men filling the river, the peaceful air of the Red Fork shattered by war. “I did this. I knew that Ser Ronald wasn’t capable of leading the outriders, and yet....”

 

Steel touched her skin, but Alyssa felt warm rather than cold as Ser Marq’s gauntleted hand rested on her shoulder. “Three thousand are dead because of your choices. Thousands more will live thanks to you. The smallfolk of Darry and Lychester are avenged, it may have been Lord Mallister who slew the Mountain, but just as the dead here are on your head, the glories are as well. 

 

It was your decisions that led to the Mountain’s death, and the hundreds of smallfolk he would have brutalized on his way back to the border will thank you. From Seagard to the Twins, from Harrenhal to Stone Hedge, these are areas untouched by war, and thanks to you, the Mountain will never bring fire or sword to either. You must weigh the soldiers you lost against the tens of thousands of smallfolk you saved.”

 

She wiped tears from her face. “And what about Edmure? If I hadn’t marched us straight into a trap, he wouldn’t have needed to come and save me. How many lives are worth my brother’s?”

 

“Ser Edmure made his own choices.” Turning in shock, Alyssa saw that the heir to Pinkmaiden’s face was stony. “You might have been the cause of his sally, but it was Ser Edmure who chose to ride against the Mountain with a vastly insufficient force, an action doomed to failure. His defeat was his own doing and I daresay, should he live through this he will learn from his mistake and be all the wiser for it.” 

 

He favoured her with a smile.  “Just as you will. With the Lannisters leaving the Riverlands, its people need no longer fear their homes being burned, their crops being taken and their families being put to the sword. It may have come at a higher price than you would have wished, but that is the nature of war, my lady. Every battle costs lives, and all we can do, is make sure that our next move ensures that they didn’t die for nothing.”

 

_ My next move...yes.  _ Alyssa looked around the battlefield at the condition of her host once more, and voiced her next thought aloud, breathing deeply as calm returned to her mind, allowing her to think clearly once more. “We… we are in no condition to pursue the Lannisters, are we, ser?”

 

Ser Marq pursed his lips for a moment in thought. “Not really, my lady, no. We still have around nine thousand men left in fighting condition, ten thousand if Lord Karyl and Ser Damon put their prisoners to the sword and join us. Within an hour or two we could have them up and moving again, but the Lannisters would have a start of four hours on us by then. We could drive hard, hoping to catch them before they reached Fisherman’s Ford, but they are fresh, and our men have fought two battles today already. There’s a very slim chance of that indeed, my lady and if they reach the Ford, they will have nearly six thousand men, and we would be fighting to cross the river at two to one odds. ”

 

Wearily, Alyssa shook her head. “Only the Seven know if we would be victorious, and the battle would be so bloody this would look like a skirmish. No, Ser Marq, put the word out; this chase is over before it began. If the lion wants to slink back into his den, then by all means let him.”

 

The Piper knight nodded shortly. “And where shall I tell the men we are going next, my lady, unless you mean to make camp here.”

 

Instead of answering, Alyssa looked out over the Red Fork, to where trout banners fluttered in the wind over red walls. “Riverrun, Ser Marq.” She looked him in the eyes. “We make for Riverrun.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rushed two out because these are probably the last for a week or two. Being sick this week has given me more time to write, but also made me miss uni, so I'm going to have to catch up on work.
> 
> Before people even ask - yes, the next chapter is already written and simply waiting on my beta to look over it, which could be anywhere from a few days to a week. And yes, it features the Starks.


	26. A Pack of Wolves

Robb Stark stretched in his saddle, yawning. Ever since leaving Winterfell, he’d spent most of the past two moons riding, and the ache in his thighs and behind told him that his body was objecting to it. The Northern host, twelve thousand men hastily gathered, had begun with a ten day march down the Kingsroad to Moat Cailin, gathering more forces along the way. Fortunately for the Northmen, despite Robb’s need to press southward, Lord Wyman Manderly, one of Winterfell’s most powerful bannermen, was not yet ready to march. This meant that they were able to rest for a wonderful two days, before Lord Manderly arrived, and in a stroke of luck, so did his mother. Lady Catelyn rode beside him now, not speaking much as the now near twenty thousand strong host moved south through the Neck, entered the Riverlands and began to proceed down the Kingsroad. 

 

After more than a moon on the march, the Northern host neared the Twins, and Robb smiled to see the twin keeps begin to rise into view over the horizon. “Once we cross the bridge, we should be at Riverrun within two turns of the moon.”

 

“If we cross.”

 

His mother’s tone had Robb turning, and he looked her in the eye, his eyebrow raised. “Walder Frey is your father’s bannerman, is he not?”

 

“Is he?” Catelyn sighed deeply. “Sometimes, I wonder. Walder Frey was always friendlier with Casterly Rock than my father would have liked, his son is married to Tywin’s sister. Expect nothing of Walder Frey, and you will not be surprised when he fails you.” She put her heels to her horse, and left Robb with his thoughts, and Lord Rickard Karstark, the man Robb chose to ride with this day.

 

The next day, noon found them reaching the Twins, and Catelyn’s eyes narrowed at the sight. While the battlements bristled with swords and spears, the banks around the castle were all but bare, and indeed showed signs that a great host had been assembled there scarcely days ago. The Greatjon took one look at the Twins, drawbridges drawn up, and began to curse. Roose Bolton was calmer, but his lips were tight as he spoke. “That cannot be assaulted, my lords.”

 

“Nor can we besiege it without an army on the far bank to invest the other keep” Ser Helman Talhart’s tone was bitter. “Not to mention we lack the time, Riverrun cannot afford to wait moons more for aid.”

 

Unlike Umber, Bolton or Tallhart, Galbart Glover, Master of Deepwood Motte, was silent as he took in the situation. Robb was not blind to Glover’s silence. “Master Galbart? What say you about this?”

 

Glover rubbed his chin in thought for a moment. “We cannot take the Twins, my lord, that’s plain enough. If you had any thoughts of forcing a crossing, it can’t be done. It’s also plain to see that Frey’s forces were here, but have already marched. The question to my mind, then is, where did they go, and who are they fighting for?”

 

Theon Greyjoy jerked his head to the eastern keep arrogantly. “It seems we’re about to get our answer.”

 

Almost as one, Catelyn and the assembled lords turned to follow the direction of his head, and their eyes widened as they saw a plank bridge slide across the moat. A sally port opened, and a Frey knight rode forth and opened his helm, revealing a face that had yet to see its first true beard. “Greetings, my lords, my lady. My lord father has sent me to see who leads this mighty host.”

 

“I do.” Robb spurred forward, direwolf shield strapped to his saddle, Grey Wind moving to stand by his side. The sudden movement of the massive direwolf caused the knight’s horse to whinny, and step back. Taken off guard, the knight instinctively yanked hard on the reins, which all present recognised as a poor move. A good horseman would have let the horse step, and simply moved with it, a pat on the head and a few calming words would have it obeying again within seconds. Pulling hard on the reins, however, instead of checking the beast, jerked the horse’s head up, and caused it to yank back, fighting now in panic.

 

Knight and horse struggled for a few moments, while the Northmen watched in amusement at the poorly trained rider ill-treating his horse, before with a sudden toss of its head, the far more powerful horse pulled its head up. The force of the pull yanked its rider forward, now unbalanced as he sat dangerously high in the saddle. For moments, he fought for control as the Northerners watched in shock and disbelief, before with a shout, he tipped off the side of the horse. Had the drawbridge been down, he merely would have crashed into the planks and risen moments later, cursing, amongst laughter from those watching. Unfortunately, the plank bridge was wide enough only for two horses side by side, and instinctively, the knight tried to roll to break his fall. With a crashing of steel armor and a cry, he went off the side into the Green Fork nearly fifty feet below, where the weight of his plate carried him straight to the bottom.

 

Catelyn’s hand was over her mouth as she watched the Frey knight disappear below the murky waters. “Seven above” she breathed, still unable to believe what she had just seen. Robb and his lords seemed to be in similar states, frozen in shock for a few minutes, until the sounds of hooves on wood made them look up to see another Frey knight approaching. Carefully staying on his own side of the bridge, the knight dismounted his horse before crossing, eyes warily fixed on Grey Wind, tail flicking innocently, as if unaware that he had just brought about a man’s death.

 

The knight flicked up his visor, revealing a face that was little more than a boy, a boy whose voice had yet to deepen. “My lord Stark. My lord grandfather bids you welcome, and invites you to join him for meat and mead to discuss your purpose on his lands.”

 

“A boy?” The Greatjon’s voice was equal parts disdain and disbelief. “Lord Walder sends a boy to speak with Lord Stark? Are you even a knight, boy?”

 

“I..” the boy hesitated for a few moments, eyes darting back and forth, wincing at the steely gazes directed at him by the Northern lords, before he sighed in defeat. “I was knighted moments ago, my lords. My lord grandfather needed a new messenger, after my brother’s...passing.” The boy glanced at the river below, shuddered for a moment, and then returned his attention to the present. “My lord grandfather wishes to speak with you, Lord Stark.”

 

Almost as one, the Northern lords cried out, and Roose Bolton spoke in his quiet, cold manner. “Go in there alone and you’re his. He can keep you, kill you or sell you to Tywin as pleases him.”

 

“My lord grandfather would never…” the boy began to work himself up into a fury, and Catelyn, sensing the rising tension and the chance to save her family slipping away, raised her voice. 

 

“I will go.” Her voice cut like a knife through the rising noise, and all present fell silent as she repeated herself. “I will go and treat with Lord Walder on my son’s behalf”.

 

“Are you sure, Mother?” Robb’s eyes were full of worry.

 

“I’ve known Lord Walder since I was a girl” she attempted to reassure her son. “He would never harm me.” Gesturing for Lord Walder’s grandson to lead the way, she tapped her heels into her horse’s side, and, moving carefully after seeing the fate of the last one to slip on that bridge, crossed the planks, dismounted her horse and entered the Twins.

  
  


She found Lord Walder calmly sitting in the high chair, while a young girl tucked his legs in with a blanket. However, what she was surprised to see was the lack of others, only a few Freys filled the hall, and most of them had seen too few winters to fight.  Moving forward, Catelyn kissed Lord Walder’s papery hand and stood in the centre of the hall. “Lord Walder, it is good to see you well after so many years.”

 

The pink spotted head bobbed. “Heh. Sweet words, my lady, but I am old, not stupid. Your mouth says one thing, but your eyes say another. So leave the sweet words to my wife, and speak plainly. Why are you here?”

 

Realizing that some of her distaste for the man in front of her must be showing, Catelyn schooled her features, before answering. “I have come to ask you to open your gates to my son’s men, my lord, and allow us to cross. Time is short, and we must move quickly.”

 

“But to where?” Age may have clouded Lord Walder’s eyes, but the cunning look in them had survived their master’s aging. “To Riverrun? Oh, no need to tell me.” He sniggered briefly. “This old man can still read a map.”

 

“To Riverrun.” Catelyn saw no reason to deny this. “Where I had expected to find you, my lord. You are my lord father’s bannerman, are you not?”

 

“I am.” Unable to contain her surprise at this admission, Catelyn started and Lord Walder smiled. “Why so surprised, my lady? You saw the camps outside, heh, even if you don’t know what that means, your lords would have told you; my men were here, and now they’re gone. You didn’t just come for my bridge, you wanted my swords as well, didn’t you?” Catelyn wordlessly nodded, and his smile grew wider. “I don’t know what you expected, my lady, but House Frey are loyal to Riverrun, I answered the call when it came. My men are gone, sent south with your sister ten days ago.”

 

“Sister?” Catelyn was shocked. “You must be wrong, Lord Walder. Lysa is in the Eyrie, surrounded by her swords, and there she stays. ”

 

“I never said it was Lady Arryn” there was an amused smirk on Lord Walder’s lips. “It’s not a falcon but a dolphin I gave my allegiance to, your other sister.”

 

“Other sister?” Catelyn couldn’t believe her ears. “I have no other sister.”

 

“Really?” Lord Walder’s grin grew wider, and for a moment, man of ninety namedays or no, Catelyn dearly wanted to slap him. “Well it makes no difference what you believe, heh. I’ve already made my deal, and sent my swords away. I still have the strength to deny you passage, but if you mean to support Riverrun, I suppose I should let you pass. So, go. The Twins are open to you.”

 

He shouted for one of his sons to open the gates, and soon chains could be heard rattling in the distance as the drawbridges clanked down. Lord Walder closed his eyes as if to sleep, before Catelyn’s shrill tone cut through his peace. “Lady Alyssa, I have no such sister. My only sister is Lysa, and she refuses to leave her mountains.”

 

Irritated, he opened them again, now firmly fixed on her. “One trueborn sister. It was the one born on the wrong side of the sheets who I sent my men with. Heh, always knew your father wasn’t made of steel, just flesh like the rest of us.” Catelyn’s face remained unchanged, and with a sigh, the old man elaborated. “Surely your husband told you, he was there on Pyke that day.”

 

_ Pyke… _

 

Catelyn jerked abruptly. It was if that word had unlocked something in her memory, for she now knew what Lord Walder was speaking of. “You gave crossing and your men, both which rightfully belong to my father as Lord Paramount of the Trident, to a bastard?”

 

Smile now banished, Lord Walder frowned deeply. “And why not? Your father is dying and can’t command, your fool brother lost his battle before we could march and is trapped in Riverrun, so yes Lady  _ Stark _ ”. The emphasis placed on the word made it clear that she had no right to command him in her father’s name any longer, as he continued. “House Frey supported Lord Tully’s remaining child in the Riverlands. Since she captured the Kingslayer, I’d say he was right to trust her, heh.”

 

“Captured the Kingslayer?” Catelyn couldn’t believe her ears. “Tell me all.”

 

With a smile, the old man began his tale, relishing his chance to put one of the Tullys who mocked him for years in her place. “Those were my forces camped on the other bank” he concluded. “She crossed the bridge with them and moved south towards the Trident ten days ago.”

 

“Crossed the bridge?” Catelyn narrowed her eyes. “If she wished to aid Riverrun, the shortest route was back the way she came. Why march south?”

 

Lord Walder chuckled, his papery voice echoing through his nearly empty hall. “If aiding Riverrun was her only goal, she wouldn’t have even come here. She didn’t have the men to face Lord Tywin, and aside from the Mallisters and me, the only ones left with men to help are along the road to Lord Harroway’s Town. She’ll travel south to Harroway, west to Riverhold to link up with the Blackfish and the rest of her army, before marching on Riverrun.”

 

“Do you have no men left you could spare?” Catelyn tried, hoping her so-called sister hadn’t fooled Lord Walder completely, and that he had kept some of his forces hidden somewhere.

 

“None.” Lord Walder’s tone was bitter. “All my boys went, save four hundred who stayed to hold the Twins. And now thanks to your boy and his wolf, I’m down one already.”

 

“I am sorry, my lord.” Catelyn’s face was downcast, and she began what would have been a heartfelt apology, before Lord Walder cut her off with a wave of his hand.

 

“Pah, don’t worry yourself. He was a grandson, and a shit swordsman. Shit at everything really, that’s why he stayed behind when all the rest rode to war, he was worthless. Just another one of those waiting for me to die so they can fight over who becomes lord, heh, glad to be rid of him. But enough of that, you wanted crossing and I gave it to you. Now go before that wolf kills anyone I actually care about.”

 

Once again, the Lord of the Crossing closed his eyes, and sank back in his great chair, indicating that the audience was over. After a few moments, another of Lord Walder’s grandsons, a boy no older than her Bran, escorted her to the door, and mounting her palfrey once more, she rode back to her son’s tents. Already moving the host forward when Lord Walder opened his gates, Robb was riding at the head of the column, as expected, and as the Northern forces began the slow process of crossing the bridge, Catelyn began to inform her son of everything that had transpired at the Twins.

 

The march to Riverrun was slow, and torturous for Catelyn. Each mile the host crossed brought her closer to her family’s home, and her fear of what she would find grew. Would she find Riverrun a smoking ruin, lion banners flying over the remnants of House Tully’s seat? Would it be as she remembered, proudly standing tall amongst the rivers, trout banners fluttering from the ramparts? Or would she find bodies of both Tully and Lannister, and a bastard girl sitting in her father’s chair?

 

Her fear only grew when she reached Seagard a week later. Jason Mallister was her father’s most loyal bannerman, and she had expected him to join his power to theirs. However, not only was Lord Jason not even at Seagard, but his castellan informed them that his lord had not returned since the disastrous Battle of the Red Fork nearly a moon ago. Catelyn cursed under her breath, as the Northern host continued south along the Blue Fork.

 

After twenty days of marching, they neared Fairmarket, and for the first time since they left the Twins, Catelyn smiled as she gestured to the small town ahead of her. “Fairmarket. No busier town you’ll find in all the Riverlands” she said, glancing at Robb. “Our men can spend what coin they have, and we can cross the Blue Fork here. After we cross, Raventree Hall, seat of Tytos Blackwood, my father’s bannerman, is five days hence. From Raventree, our route runs around the hills where House Grell has their seat until it reaches a point where we can ford the Tumblestone.”

 

As they drew closer, tents set up outside the gates of the town seemed to come into view, and Robb narrowed his eyes. “Mother” he asked cautiously, “the Lord of Fairmarket is your lord father’s bannerman, is he not?”

 

Catelyn shook her head. “There is no Lord of Fairmarket. The town is controlled by House Blackwood, but ruled by a knight.”

 

“Are their colours red and gold?”

 

“No”, Catelyn felt a cold stone of fear form in her belly as she answered. “Ravens and a white tree on red. Why, Robb?”

 

Grimly, Robb pointed ahead, where flashes of metal could be seen from the walls. “Because unless I miss my guess, those aren’t Blackwood men on the walls, Fairmarket has fallen.” He unsheathed his sword. “And we will take it back.” Gesturing to his signaller, the warhorns of the North sounded, and as Catelyn watched anxiously, Robb rode forth into Fairmarket, followed by the might of the North.

 

It felt like hours to her, listening to the clash of steel and the screams of men dying, but it was over in moments. Soon Robb rode back up to her, armour splashed with blood not his own, blade red. “It’s finished.”

 

“Gods be good.” Catelyn formed the Seven-Pointed Star, and she followed her son into the town square. When she had come here as a child, Fairmarket had been bustling and lively, the income from the town providing the majority of House Blackwood’s wealth. Now, though, the streets were silent, save for the sound of wounded men groaning. The surviving Lannister were being dragged into the square, barely a hundred. Roose Bolton was supervising the prisoners, face emotionless as always. At the sight of her, he bowed slightly. “Lady Stark. It was over in moments, there were less than a thousand of them. They surrendered as soon as they saw our numbers.”

 

“How many did we lose?” Robb’s voice was strong, and Catelyn smiled despite herself, that was the same voice she’d heard Ned use a hundred times, his Lord voice.

“Twenty, my lord.”

 

Robb’s lips pursed, and he glanced at the prisoners. “Where did you come from?” Silence was his answer, and he tried again. “How many of you are there?” One of the older Lannister men hacked and spat next to Robb’s boots. Roose Bolton moved up beside him, beckoning him aside. Curiously, Catelyn moved close enough to listen in as the Lord of the Dreadfort spoke quietly.

 

“My lord, perhaps there is a way to  _ convince  _ them to see sense. You know my House’s reputation.”

 

“Flaying is illegal, Lord Bolton” Robb scolded firmly. “That is the law, and even though we are not in the North, as men of the North we bring it with us wherever we go.”

 

“Of course, my lord” Roose went on smoothly. “But do they know that? These Southerners think of us as barbaric savages, and if threatened, I think some of their weaker men may be more willing to speak.”

 

Robb rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “So how do we go about this, Lord Bolton?”

 

“Point out that you don’t need the extra mouths, threaten to leave me in charge of the town, then leave this to me and play along”.

 

Robb nodded after a moment, before he turned to the prisoners. “And what shall I do with you? I must needs move fast to relieve Riverrun, so I can ill afford the time to transport hostages, unless of course you give me a reason to. Or, I could move on and leave Lord Bolton here to watch over the town.”

 

Lord Roose stepped forward, eyes glinting eerily, and more than one prisoner visibly shuddered. Despite knowing that Robb would never allow captives to be tortured, Catelyn felt afraid herself, so good was Robb’s mummery.

 

“B-Bolton? But he skins people alive!” The speaker was young, barely old enough to be called a man, if that. Catelyn could see that he was not suited for war, and experienced at ferreting out secrets as he was, Roose noticed instantly.

 

“Ah, one who remembers. ”

 

The boy trembled head to foot, even bound as he was, and Roose had to hold back a sigh at the Lannister’s weakness. “Despite what you may think, I do not flay every prisoner I see. I am a busy man, and I do not have the time to waste on you. Speak truly and hold nothing back, and no harm will come to you from my hands.”

 

Tears now flowing, the boy nodded, but his fellow prisoners began to shout at him to say nothing, before a nod from Roose got the shouter a steel-shod boot in the ribs from a Bolton guard. Shouts cut off, the man coughed blood, while Roose himself reached into his belt. The boy shut his eyes, shaking in fear, before a light touch caused him to open his eyes. Lord Bolton was standing there, a small square of linen in hand, calmly wiping the snot and tears from his face with light, smooth strokes, face impassive.

 

“Flaying is an art, did you know, boy?” The Lannister jerked back, but with a gesture, Roose signalled a pair of guards, and they strode forward, each gripping the boy by an arm and holding him in place. “People think you just jam the knife in and start sawing, and that may suffice, if you merely want a scalp, or your enemy to die in a pool of blood.” He resumed cleaning the boy’s face, wiping with smooth, even strokes. “True flaying, however, is slow, and precise. The knife slips in, just below the skin, and you slide forward, slowly and surely, as if you were peeling an orange.”

 

He moved the cloth over the boy’s nose gently, and the boy jerked again. “Slowly, and gently. A true master of the flaying knife can make it last days, if not weeks. Once an area is flayed, the blood will stop soon enough, but even the slightest touch” his hand brushed the boy’s cheek, and was rewarded with a shudder, “will draw more blood and cause untold agony. But I doubt that will be necessary.” 

 

Suddenly, Lord Roose smiled, and somehow that frightened Catelyn worse than his emotionless stare had. “You seem a smart boy.” He finished his work and tucked the cloth back into his belt. As he did so, his hip twisted almost unnoticeably, allowing the noonday sun to gleam off the handle of an oddly shaped knife. The boy whimpered, and looked up to Robb in search of salvation.

 

Robb’s face was set, stern but fair in comparison to Lord Bolton’s fearsome smile. “Answer our questions, lad, and we won’t harm you. Where did you come from?”

 

Roose’s hand seemed to brush the hilt of the knife, and the boy almost fell over himself in his hurry to answer. “Raventree Hall, milord. We came from Raventree.”

 

“Raventree Hall is House Blackwood’s seat” Catelyn found herself interrupting, earning her a look from Robb and Lord Roose. “Lord Tytos is loyal to my father, he wouldn’t allow Lannisters into his halls.”

 

A slight wind shifted Roose’s spotted pink cloak onto one shoulder, revealing a pauldron of grey steel made in the shape of a screaming human face. Despite herself, Catelyn shuddered. “Are you lying to Lord Stark, boy?” The tone was soft, but the words carried more threat than if he had shouted. Immediately, the boy shook his head as fast as he could.

 

“No, milord, I swear! Raventree’s men died at Riverrun, and their lord was captured, so Ser Addam leads us to take Raventree and hold the road against any Mallisters coming to reinforce Lady Alyssa. Two thousand we were, and when we march up to the walls, Ser Addam rides up with a peace banner to talk with the commander, and minutes later they’re opening the gates for us! We threw the garrison in their own dungeons, and next day Ser Addam rides off again with most of the men, but he left us to hold the castle”

 

“How many of you were there?”

 

“Six hundred, milord, commanded by Ser Alyn Stackspear, Lord Selmond’s second son. At least, there was. Couple of days later, Ser Alyn gets the idea that if we’s supposed to be holdin’ the road, then if we take the bridge at Fairmarket, we can keep the Mallisters from crossing the river. Bastard just wanted the glory of taking the town. Led four hundred of us on a five-day march into the town in the middle of the day.”

 

“Didn’t Lord Blackwood leave a garrison to protect his town?” Robb’s voice was incredulous.

 

“The Knight of Fairmarket got captured at Riverrun, and he’d taken most of his men with him. He left fifty to hold Fairmarket, but they were no match for our numbers, and our attack caught them off guard before they could close the gates. Just as you caught us off-guard just now” he admitted, red-faced.

 

Robb went to reply, but Roose cut in swiftly. “Did you say there were four hundred of you here?” The boy nodded, and Roose’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “And six hundred of you were left at Raventree?” Another nod. “So as of right now, Raventree Hall, one of the most defensible castles in the Riverlands, is held by only two hundred men?”

 

“If that. We had a few sneaking out to join us on our march, eager to join in the glory.”

Now understanding of Roose’s thoughts, Robb cleared his throat. “What of Lord Blackwood’s garrison? Are they still in the dungeons?”

 

“Yes, milord, at least, they were when I left.”

 

Robb waved at a nearby captain to watch the prisoners, and moved out of their earshot, gesturing for Catelyn and Roose to join him. “We have an opportunity here. Lord Bolton, we have just under twenty thousand men, correct?”

 

“Nineteen thousand five hundred, less the twenty we lost taking this town.”

 

“Near enough to it.” Robb’s foot was tapping as he considered his move. “We are here to aid our allies, the Tullys. Leaving the seat of one of their bannermen in Lannister hands would be contrary to our goals, would it not?”

 

“Robb, Raventree Hall is one of the strongest castles in the Riverlands” Catelyn couldn’t help but interrupt. “If you storm the walls, thousands will die.”

 

“It might not come to that, Lady Stark”. Roose’s face was unreadable, as always. “Our advantage is overwhelming, and these Lannisters are no brave lions.” Robb glanced at Lord Bolton, then back at Catelyn and began to smile.

  
  


The recapture of Raventree Hall was as easy as Lord Bolton had predicted. The Northern host crossed the Blue Fork and proceeded west, towards House Blackwood’s seat. After five days, they reached Raventree Hall, where the Northmen, hungry for a proper battle after the skirmish at Fairmarket, were to be bitterly disappointed. The very sight of thousands of men forming up outside the castle drew out the Lannisters with a flag of parley. Outnumbered nearly a hundred to one, the defenders yielded without so much as an arrow loosed in the Northmen’s direction when given the chance.  

 

Lord Blackwood’s garrison were still at Raventree, held captive in the very castle they served, and it was easy enough to rearm them and set them to guarding the walls once more. As for the Lannisters, the captors found themselves the captives as they were swiftly disarmed and herded into Raventree’s cells. Robb augmented the garrison’s supplies and arrow stores, before the Northern host continued south, the ravens and dead tree on scarlet of House Blackwood flying over Raventree Hall once more.

 

From Raventree their path led south-west, around the hills between Riverrun and Raventree, until five days after leaving House Blackwood’s castle, they reached the keep of House Grell, tucked into a valley between two of the largest hills. After their reception at the Twins and Seagard, Catelyn was doubtful of Grell’s ability to aid them. She was far from surprised then, when the castellan informed them that House Grell’s levies had been smashed in the disastrous battle under the walls of Riverrun, and Ser Grell himself made a Lannister prisoner. 

 

However, the castellan gave what supplies he could, and Catelyn was able to rest one night in a proper bed, before they continued on. While small, House Grell’s strength was that the trail leading to their castle was wide enough only for two on horseback side by side, and so bringing a sizeable army through the hills was near impossible. Unfortunately, this forced the Northern host to march all the way around, making what would have been three days journey take two weeks.

 

At long last, more than three moons after leaving Moat Cailin, the host rounded the hills. Catelyn smiled as she saw the familiar terrain. “These are my father’s lands. Riverrun is less than a day’s ride away, but at our speed, it will be another two days before we reach it. Three before we can aid them, crossing the Fisherman’s Ford will take the best part of a day”.

 

Robb moved to respond, but before he could, the sound of pounding hooves drew his attention to a sweat-stained rider in Glover colours, racing up towards him, drawing rein abruptly and bowing in the saddle as best he could. “Lord Stark. Master Glover sends me to inform you that we have made contact with the enemy. Lannister outriders, ranging from a camp across the Tumblestone from Riverrun three days march away, the prisoners tell us.”

 

“Good.” Robb’s voice was firm. “Make sure that none of them escape, I will not have the Lannisters learn of our position.”

 

The Glover man bowed his head in shame. “I regret to inform you, my lord, that they already have. Two outriders slipped away during the fighting.  Within a day, their camp will be aware of our presence.”

 

“Unfortunate.” Robb looked at the nervous outrider up and down for a moment, before relenting. “But not unforgivable and certainly not our undoing. With the size of our host, we could never have hidden our presence for long anyway.” With a gesture, the rider was dismissed.

 

Gratefully, the man bowed again before galloping off, and Catelyn saw Robb’s eyes narrow. “Three days, then.”

 

However, it was noon the next day when the outrider approached Robb again. “Lord Stark, we’ve sighted the Lannister camp. Four thousand, by the look of it. But that’s not the only thing. Tents are being rolled up and horses saddled, they appear to be preparing to break camp.”

 

“Where are they going?” Catelyn found herself asking before she thought about it.

 

“We don’t know, my lady” the Glover man favoured her with an apologetic smile.

 

“I do”. Both turned to look at Robb, his face set. “Those outriders who escaped will have warned Lord Tywin of our coming, and knowing he lacks the strength to face us, he flees. North leads to the Twins, and the Neck, places he’ll find no aid. The Red Fork lies to his east, and Lady Alyssa’s path should place her somewhere near Stone Hedge. If he crosses, he risks meeting her army on the march. To the south, Riverrun itself blocks his retreat. That leaves but one direction. West. Across the Tumblestone at the Fisherman’s Ford, and then back to the Golden Tooth, or mayhaps Pinkmaiden.”

 

“Fisherman’s Ford is less than a day’s march from our position” the rider said eagerly. “Should we force a march on them, my lord?”

 

“No.” Both men glanced at Catelyn, her posture demanding obedience. “Fisherman’s Ford is a day’s march away for the Lannisters as well, and they’ve had hours start. Lord Tywin is no fool, he’ll take only his fastest men and leave his wounded and his supplies behind. If he beats us to the Ford, he can hold the bank against us for days, even with four thousand. That is if four thousand is the fullness of his strength; to properly lay siege to Riverrun, you must surround it with three camps, one north of the Tumblestone, one west of the Red Fork and one south of the castle, where the two rivers meet. It would be safe to assume that camp is only a third of his power.”

 

“We marched to defend the Riverlands” Robb was stroking his beard thoughtfully. “If the Lannisters cross the Tumblestone, they will be retreating west. But if we block their crossing, they’ll be trapped in the Riverlands, where they will continue to rape and pillage the lands of the Trident.” He turned to the outrider. “Instruct Master Galbart that he is to continue his pursuit, but not to move faster than our current pace. Our aim is to hound the Lannisters over the river and block their return.”

 

“As you command, my lord.” He turned to ride off, before pausing. “Lady Stark, if I might make so bold, why is it called the Fisherman’s Ford?”

 

Despite the tension in the air, Catelyn couldn’t help but laugh. “It was years ago, when I was only a girl. The Long Summer might have been the longest the South has been without winter, but that year was the hottest the Riverlands have ever seen. The very waters of the Trident, the lifeblood of these lands, began to dry up and recede. Fisherman’s Ford has always been shallower than the other parts of the Tumblestone, so when the waters pulled back, that part was exposed entirely. Fish leaping up river to mate would land there and be beached. There was no need for net or hooks, the fishermen were walking onto the riverbed and scooping up trout with their bare hands by the basketful. It may have been a dry year, but they never lacked for food.”

 

“An apt name then, my lady.” The man bowed, and rode off.

 

Days later, when the vanguard finally reached Fisherman’s Ford, Robb looked out over the Tumblestone and swore. Catelyn wanted to correct him, but she felt the same. On the other side of the fast-running river, Lannister banners could be seen waving in the wind, while red and gold tents covered the riverbank. The edge of the bank itself was manned by lines of determined men in Lannister armour, spears and pikes held firm, bows ready. Lord Rickard Karstark lacked her control. “Fucking Lannisters beat us here!”

 

Robb eyed the assembled Lannisters carefully. “How many would you say, Lord Karstark?”

 

Rickard stroked his beard for a moment. “Mayhaps a thousand, my lord.”

 

“Can we force a crossing against those numbers?”

 

Lord Karstark snorted. “Without a problem, my lord.”

 

“Then tell Master Galbart to sound the charge.”

 

“Aye, my lord” Rickard’s grin was predatory. He put his spurs to his horse and rode off, shouting for Glover. Hooves thundered and splashed as the Northern horse charged across the Fisherman’s Ford. The foot raised their weapons, preparing to follow, while Robb drew his sword, before joining them.

 

The battle was short, but bloody. By the time the lion banner fell, three hundred Northmen were wounded or dead, and six hundred Lannisters. A bare handful of Westermen had survived, including, to the Northmen’s fortune, the Lannister commander, Lord Terrence Kenning, and his second in command, Lord Selmond Stackspear. Robb called his lords to Lord Terrence’s tent, where he set up a makeshift council of war, the two Westermen chained and guarded.

 

“Where are the rest of the Lannister forces? Where is Lord Tywin? How many are there?” Robb’s questions were swift and abrupt.

 

Lord Terrence set his jaw in silence for a moment, before all the fight seemed to go out of hm and he slumped in the grip of his guards with a sigh. “I suppose it doesn’t matter, you’ll find out soon enough. Gone.  Lord Tywin left us to hold the Ford and delay you, which we have succeeded at. He retreated west hours ago, leaving his wounded, supplies and much of his slower foot behind.”

 

“Riverrun?”

“Is safe now.” Ruefully, Lord Terrence shook his head. “Lady Alyssa finally made her move. We were sure she was laying siege to Stone Hedge, but somehow she slipped past our outriders, and joined up with the Blackfish. She crossed the Red Fork, and hit the eastern camp at night. We lost four thousand men there, and then the outriders reported your approach. Lord Tywin commanded a full retreat, and left the Mountain to hold the bank with two thousand. He ambushed her as she forded the river, and may well have wiped out her host, if not for that fool Edmure Tully.”

 

“Edmure?” Catelyn’s voice was equal parts shock and fear. “What about my brother?”

 

“He led a sally from Riverrun to take the Mountain in the rear.” Lord Terrence’s face showed nothing but sympathy. “But the siege had clearly taken its toll, my lady, they must have been eating their horses because most of his knights were afoot. The Mountain’s men rained arrows on them.

 

“And my brother?”

 

“I...do not know, my lady. We only had this from a survivor who fled the battle before it was over, and Lord Tywin had him killed as soon as he finished speaking. Ser Edmure was unhorsed, and brought to the ground. I do know that Lady Alyssa finally broke them while they were focused on fighting off Ser Edmure’s men, and Lord Jason Mallister killed the Mountain, though he was gravely wounded in doing so. As soon as the Mountain fell, our man knew the battle was lost and fled.”

 

Catelyn was seconds away from weeping for her brother, before Robb interrupted her thoughts. “Two thousand sacrificed to delay her, four thousand lost when the eastern camp fell.” He fixed Lord Terrence with a firm glare. “Lord Kenning, how many men does Lord Tywin have left?”

 

Lord Terrence  took a deep breath, aware of the fact that he was about to betray his Lord’s trust, but also of the fact that Lord Tywin had left him and his men to die. “After his losses at the Camps, leaving behind my men and several hundred of Lord Lefford’s who couldn’t keep up, nearly six thousand.”

 

“And where are they headed?”

 

“The Golden Tooth. Lord Tywin has saved as many men as he can, and he means to march them back to Casterly Rock to muster a new host.”

 

“Thank you, Lord Kenning.” Robb gestured to the guards. “Have him guarded, but not chained, and treat him as his rank deserves, he has been quite helpful.”

 

“Wait!” 

 

As the guards began to escort the prisoners away, Robb raised a hand, and they paused, all present glancing at the previously silent Lord Stackspear. “You came from Raventree Hall, did you not? My son Alyn was commanding the garrison there. Does he live?”

 

Robb’s face fell. “I regret to inform you, my lord, that your son was killed at the Battle of Fairmarket.”

 

“Battle of Fairmarket?” Lord Selmond’s tone was of a man who could not believe his ears. “Alyn was instructed to hold Raventree, why was he at Fairmarket?”

 

“Your son felt it was necessary to control the bridge over the Blue Fork, so he led four hundred men to seize Fairmarket.”

 

“And left Raventree with too few to stand against you when your army marched up to the walls after you smashed his forces.” Lord Selmond said knowingly, before he groaned. “You bloody fool, how will I tell your mother?”

 

Movements restricted by the chains, Lord Terrence still managed to awkwardly place his hand on Lord Selmond’s shoulder in sympathy, and the guards took both men away, before Robb broke out in laughter. “Gods, Lord Tywin running for the Tooth with his tail between his legs, we could follow him up and finish him before he gets back to the Westerlands.”

 

“Aye, let’s shove our swords up Tywin’s arse. For Ned!” The Greatjon was as blunt and crude as ever, but Roose Bolton’s calm interjection proved the voice of reason.

 

“I would advise against that, Lord Stark. Lord Tywin already has a start of hours on us, by the time we cross the Ford, he’ll be more than a day ahead. Not only that, but he has left behind his baggage and wounded. Even if we do the same, we would have to force a march to catch him, and our men would be too tired to fight if we did that. Let him run, my lord.”

 

Robb rubbed his jaw, then looked at Rickard Karstark, silent until now. The greying Lord frowned for a moment. “As much as it pains me to agree with Bolton, my lord, we’d never catch Tywin in time. Let him hide under Casterly Rock, while we join with the Tullys. He may be raising a new host, but he has to march out of the West to fight us. I doubt he can raise enough men to challenge both us and the lords of the Trident now.”

 

“Why must we fight the Lannisters at all?” Every eye in the tent was drawn to Catelyn, even Robb gaping in disbelief, and she hurried to explain herself. “I do not mean that we should make peace for the sake of peace, I am no fool, my lords. But we came south because Ned had been captured and Lannister raiders were ravaging the Riverlands. We rode to defend the Riverlands and to win my lord’s freedom.

 

Well the one was done in the main before we arrived, and the other now looms before us. Ned and the girls are in King’s Landing, and Lord Tywin is in no shape to bar our path. So let us end this now, my lords. We have nearly twenty thousand men, almost ten times the gold cloaks numbers, let us join with my father’s forces, lay siege to the city and put an end to this war.”

 

Many scoffed, some laughed but it was grey-haired Maege Mormont, Lady of Bear Island, who spoke first. “A fine goal, my lady, but we lack the strength to take the city, and the Tullys are not likely to send their men away while Lannisters remain in the Riverlands. Even if they did agree, while we lay siege to the city, Lord Tywin will be gathering a new host, until he marches out and smashes us against the city walls. Not to mention, we have no fleet, so we can’t stop them getting food in by sea.”

 

The noise started up again, before Robb held up his hand and the tent stilled. “Enough, my lords. It is clear we cannot catch Lord Tywin, and whatever our next move is, we will need the Tullys strength on our side. So we make for Riverrun, to join up with Lady Alyssa and her host. Dismissed, my lords, see to your men.”

 

The tent emptied, and Catelyn couldn’t help but look out over the river at her father’s castle, still standing as proud as the day she went North.  _ I’ll see you soon, Father. I’m home. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beta gets back to me and so House Stark shows itself!
> 
> My map of the North will be going up soon, so people can have a look at the strength of various Houses, and just like my map of the Riverlands, feel free to make comments or questions if you think I've mislabelled a House or got the strength of an area wrong. All I ask is that you please make those comments on the map itself.


	27. The Butcher's Bill

It had been a full day since they had smashed the Lannisters across the Red Fork, and for hours, the men had celebrated loudly and raucously, as was their right after such a great victory. Alyssa did not join them, instead hovering outside Maester Vyman’s chambers, and eager for news of her brother. Eventually, her uncle pulled her away, and told her bluntly that she would do more harm than good by distracting the maester and that she should find something to distract herself.

Walking through the courtyard of Riverrun as if in a daze, unsure of what to do now, the clash of steel drew her attention to the smithy, where a sword was currently being beaten out on an anvil. The sight of the glowing blade caused her to almost unconsciously reach to her waist, where Bloodclaw hung once again, Alyssa having retrieved it from the side of the unconscious Lord Jason after the battle. She then frowned upon touching the blade when she remembered that her own sword was still shattered after its encounter with Ser Jaime and his Valyrian sword.

_ Come to think of it, that’s something I could do while I’m here. _

Stepping inside the smithy, she sat on a barrel and patiently waited until the smith had placed the sword into a cooling trough before she moved to speak with him. The blacksmith, a man of nearly fifty who had served Riverrun all his life, looked up and saw her, his face breaking into a grin.

“Lady Alyssa, I haven’t seen you in years.”

Alyssa smiled. “And it’s good to see you too, master smith.”

The blacksmith waved his hand derisively. “Please, I’m nowhere near a master. Now what is it you want, my lady?” Instead of responding, Alyssa swung the sword off her back and placed it in front of him, scabbard and all. The smith had a good memory, and he recognised the weapon in an instant. “I remember this blade” he said, stroking the hilt fondly. “This is the sword Lord Hoster had me forge for your nameday; you were turning six and ten. Seven above, that must have been nearly ten years ago.”

Alyssa nodded. “Nine, and it served me well for all that time, especially at Pyke. Hopefully” at this she drew the sword and the smith gasped when he saw it ended halfway up the blade. “You can remake it as well.”

The smith gasped and took the hilt in his fingers, turning the weapon around and examining the point where the blade had separated. “I don’t understand it, I forged this myself. Unless you’ve been slaying stones, nothing should be able to break it this cleanly, it may not be Valyrian steel but it’s as damn close to it as possible.. How did this happen?”

Alyssa winced. “I had a run in with the Kingslayer, and River’s Edge came off second best this” she gestured to Bloodclaw, hanging from her belt when by all rights, River’s Edge should be at her side instead. She flicked the guard, and for an instant Bloodclaw lifted in its sheath, an inch of blade flashing and revealing the crimson Valyrian steel.

Experienced enough to know the material by sight, the old smith sucked in a breath. “Well. That would do it, I’m not ashamed to admit my steel can’t match the work of Old Valyria. Do you have the other half?” Alyssa turned the scabbard upside down and the other shard fell out onto his bench. Taking it up, he examined it carefully.

Alyssa was anxious. “Can you mend it?”

He was silent for a second before he answered. “I can, but this isn’t as simple as hammering the two bits together. This will take hours, if not days, and will require my personal attention. Sadly, my lady, before he rode out to fight, your brother ordered that the soldiers have their weapons and armor repaired first, but I swear, as soon as I can, I will begin work on this. There will be more songs about this sword yet, don’t you worry about that.” Heart lightened, Alyssa left the smithy, bidding farewell to the craftsman, who had carefully placed the broken pieces back in the scabbard and placed them aside, before going back to work on a spear point.

As she passed the maester’s quarters, Maester Vyman came out; cleaning his bloody hands on a towel, and Alyssa felt her heart leap into her throat. “He lives, my lady. The leg is set, and he will heal cleanly. However, he must stay abed for days, and it will be weeks before he can ride again.

Alyssa sank to her knees and sent a prayer of thanks to the Mother for her mercy. “Thank you, Maester Vyman. Thank you.”

The old man just smiled. “It’s my duty to serve the Lord of Riverrun, my lady and the Lord of Riverrun commanded me to heal his son. But you are welcome nonetheless.” Alyssa bowed and left, moving to find someone to practice with so she could release some emotion. It was nearing dusk when a servant came to tell her that Edmure had called for a meeting in the Great Hall. Tossing her wooden sword to one of the unfortunate squires who manned the practice yard, she headed into the keep, to hear what her brother had to say.

The Great Hall of Riverrun was packed full of knights, lords, servants, guards and prisoners. Edmure, pale but alive sat at the head of the hall, in the high seat of the Tullys, where her father had sat and his father before him.  His lords bannermen stood closest, a group of around ten who commanded the full military might of the Riverlands. At his right hand stood Brynden Tully, himself having only recently left his chambers after having his leg wound treated. The space to Edmure’s direct left was left open for her evidently, given the looks that were given to her as she entered. Next to her was Ser Ryman Frey, representing his elderly grandfather in place of his father, drowned in the Red Fork. The weasel-faced man stood nervously next to her squire Olyvar and his sister Roslin. The space on Ser Ryman’s opposite was empty, reserved for Jason Mallister, still unconscious after his battle with the Mountain with Maester Vyman as yet unable to say whether he would live.

Large Jonos Bracken next to another gap, the place of the absent Tytos Blackwood, a Lannister prisoner.  Karyl Vance, newly made Lord of Wayfarer’s Rest after his father’s death at Riverhold, nervous at being included among the high lords of the Riverlands, stood next to Ser Marq Piper, representing his absent father who had been Alyssa’s right hand during that same engagement. As Alyssa slid past Ser Ryman and took her place, she briefly scanned the hall.

Six they were, including Edmure, six of the most powerful and influential figures on the Trident, and Alyssa felt honoured to be part of their company. A short distance behind them, Tully guards in blue and red tunics and fish-crest helms guarded a group of notable Lannister prisoners. Behind them stood countless knights, servants, smallfolk and squires, packing the hall to be part of this historic moment, when for the first time in centuries, the Riverlords had driven away the massed power of Casterly Rock and forced the Warden of the West into retreat.

Utherydes Wayn looked around to see that all were present, and then to his lord for permission, which a nod granted, before striking his iron shod staff on the floor three times. “Silence for Ser Edmure Tully, acting Lord of Riverrun!” The hall quietened, and Edmure called for his sword, which Ser Robin Ryger, Riverrun’s greying captain of the guards, delivered, Edmure drawing it from the sheath slowly and placing it on his knees.

Her brother took a breath, and then began. “My lords, my ladies, we are gathered here today, to thank those responsible for driving away Lord Tywin and freeing us from the Lannister siege. All men at arms, knights and lords who fought in that battle honoured themselves and their Houses, but there is one in particular who deserves special mention.”

Utherydes boomed out “Let Lady Alyssa Tully of Riverhold stand forward!” Alyssa felt all eyes in the hall upon her as she moved forward, and Ser Ryman stepped aside until she was standing in front of her brother’s chair, nervous at all this attention.

Edmure spoke again. “My lords, this woman, my own sister, not only devised the stratagem that led to us shattering the Lannister army and forcing Lord Tywin to retreat, but she personally led the attack on Ser Jaime’s army and captured him under the walls of her own castle. Alyssa, on behalf of our father, House Tully and the Riverlands, I thank you. Father truly knew what he was doing when he named you Warden.  What reward would you ask of House Tully for your services?”

Inwardly, Alyssa gritted her teeth, this was the crucial moment. All the planning, the battle, and their alliance with the Freys could unravel in the next few moments if Edmure didn’t understand his role in the mummer’s farce she was playing out. “My lord brother, I am grateful for your appreciation, but there is no need to thank me. I am a Tully, my lord, my family was under attack so I did my duty.”

Edmure opened his mouth to speak again, but Alyssa cut him off, causing many to frown, but she didn’t care. It was vital that she get this right, if she didn’t wish Lord Walder to become an enemy of Riverrun. “If you wish to reward someone, my lord brother, then reward our loyal and valiant bannermen of House Frey, for without Frey men to bolster our ranks, we never could have smashed the eastern camp. Nor could we have defeated the Mountain without loyal Frey men to hold the line, which they did, even though it cost Lord Walder’s son and heir, Ser Stevron, his life.

Privately, Alyssa despised this mummer’s farce, but understood the necessity of it.  With Ser Stevron’s death, Ser Ryman had to be reassured that his father’s sacrifice had not gone unnoticed, that House Frey had not been forgotten. Alyssa jerked her thoughts back to the present as her brother was grasping his beard in thought.

“Very well.” He nodded to Utherydes again, and understanding his wish, Riverrun’s steward raised his voice again.

“Ser Ryman Frey, come forward.” Ser Ryman moved forward, accompanied by Olyvar and Roslin, causing some eyebrows to be raised, Edmure’s among them. Nevertheless, her brother soldiered on regardless.

“Ser Ryman. The House of Frey has served House Tully well this day, saving the lives of thousands. On behalf of House Tully, I ask you as your father’s representative, is there any boon House Frey would ask of House Tully for its aid this day?”

Inwardly, Ser Ryman smiled, as if he had hooked a particularly stubborn fish. “Lord Edmure, when Lady Alyssa came to my lord grandfather’s castle asking for our aid to drive the Lannisters from the Riverlands, something she said struck a chord with my lord grandfather and my own father. House Frey failed Lord Hoster on the Trident, we were too slow to aid him in battle. 

But one mistake does not define our House, and Lady Alyssa offered us a chance to redeem the honour of House Frey, to show our fellow Riverlords that House Frey has turned over a new leaf, that no longer will we extort our liege lords for service and loyalty that rightfully belongs to them.”

He stopped speaking and gestured Olyvar forward, who many recognised as Alyssa’s squire, and who was very nervous at speaking to the acting Lord Paramount of the Trident in front of the assembled lords and knights of the Riverlands. “To…to seal this new loyalty, my lord, my lord father humbly asks that you do House Frey the great honor of taking my sister Roslin.”He beckoned her forward, and she, very shyly, approached as Olyvar continued, “as your wife, to symbolise the turning point in the relationship between Houses Tully and Frey by uniting both in marriage, in the light of the Seven.”

Edmure frowned for a second, this was a surprise to him, but he had been effectively trapped, after promising the Freys a boon, he could not deny them in front of all his people, there was no way to do so without appearing dishonourable and ungrateful. Looking over to where his sister was trying to hide a smile, his temper rose as he wondered what possible reason Alyssa could have had for effectively forcing him to wed a weasel-faced Frey, until he saw her subtly jerking her head in the direction of his prospective bride. 

Having given the girl no more than a cursory glance when she came forward previously, he focused his gaze on Roslin Frey and he instantly forgave Alyssa for effectively arranging his marriage with this beauty as his frown turned to a smile. “It would be my honor to take Lady Roslin as my wife, provided she consents.”

All eyes turned to her, and Roslin Frey spoke, if nervously, well for a girl of six and ten. “I do, my lord. It would be my pleasure to be your wife.”

Edmure smiled again. “Then I agree, although it may be best to wait a moon or so for the marriage until I am able to do my duty.” he said resentfully, looking at his leg, bound to a stick by Maester Vyman to ensure it set straight. The hall fell silent for a moment, before Edmure took a deep breath and continued. “Well. Now that is settled, let us proceed with less pleasant business.”

Utherydes cracked his staff on the ground. “Bring the prisoners forward!”

Two men moved slowly forward, restricted by their chains. Tully guards flanked them, spears raised and swords drawn, ready to cut down any that tried to escape or fight. Alyssa didn’t recognise either of them, but from the sigils and the finer quality of their armor, she made them to be Lannister notables, a lord and a knight, and as Utherydes read out their names, she easily put Houses to them, prisoners from the previous day’s fighting.

Lord Dennis Plumm. The fierce fighting of the previous day had completely driving speaking to him from Alyssa’s mind. And Ser Flement Brax, heir to Hornvale. The third son of Lord Andros was heir to his family’s seat now due to the deaths of his father at Riverhold and older brother, Robert at the Camps. Few they may be, but they were the lords or heirs of powerful seats in the West, and they were not the only prisoners the Tullys had. Alyssa’s own dungeons were filled with captives taken at Riverhold. Gawen Westerling, Lord of the Crag. Cleos and Tion Frey, first and third born sons of Genna Lannister and Emmon Frey. Tytos Brax, the new Lord of Hornvale. Quenten Banefort, Lord of the Banefort. Ser Garth Greenfield, Knight of Greenfield. Regenard Estren, Lord of Wyndhall. And of course, the crown jewel in the collection, Ser Jaime Lannister himself, Lord Tywin’s beloved son and heir. 

They were the lucky ones, the ones who had been fast enough to yield or lucky enough to survive somehow. Others weren’t so fortunate. Lord Serrett had been slain at the Camps, along with Lord Lewys Lydden of the Deep Den and Willem Lannister, Lord Tywin’s nephew killed personally by Alyssa at Riverhold. And of course, the infamous “Mountain Who Rides” had been slain by the Lord of Seagard in single combat during the previous day’s Battle of the Woods, shattering the Lannister morale. The prisoners stood in front of Edmure’s chair and he looked down at them, hand clenching on the hilt of the sword that clearly signified his denial of their guest right. “My lords Lannister. Welcome to Riverrun. If you will pledge me your word of honor, before this assembly and your fellow Westerners, that you will not attempt to escape, then I shall keep you in accommodations appropriate for men of your station.”

Edmure looked at Lord Dennis and Ser Flement, but both remained silent, the latter with a confident smirk. “As you wish. Escort them to the dungeon, and ensure they are well guarded.” He turned to the assembled lords of the Trident. “When this session is over, my lords, see Utherydes to discuss where you will keep your share of the prisoners, once Lady Alyssa brings hers to Riverrun, and how they will be divided up. Ser Jaime will of course remain a guest of Riverrun when he arrives.”

The hall burst out into applause at the idea of the Kingslayer being in Riverrun’s dungeons, and Edmure decided this was a good time to end the session, it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that the exertion of holding court had weakened him, he really still should be resting, and Maester Vyman had sternly told him so before he left the maester’s chambers. 

He nodded to Utherydes, and the steward crashed his iron shod staff on the floor three times. “In the name of the Lord Paramount of the Trident, I declare this session closed.”  Firmly, the guards escorted the prisoners from the hall, prodding them with the butts of their spears. Edmure rose from his chair, face pale, ignoring the litter that he had been carried into the room on, as to not look weak in front of his lords. He started to walk out, but it was clearly a strain on his leg, and he collapsed, causing murmurs among the crowd. 

Alyssa decided it was time to take a hand in forming the opinion of the sheep before it became unfavourable towards her brother. “My lord brother, there’s no shame in using the litter. Your wound comes from defending our homes and your people, when you could have hidden in Riverrun. I think I speak for all here when I say that that none of us will judge you if you need to be carried back to the maester’s chambers, the fact that you were able to hold court the day after you nearly died is proof enough of your devotion to the Riverlands, don’t you think?”

She addressed the last part of her statement, and many voices responded. “Aye!” Edmure smiled, and collapsed into his chair, signalling the guards to lift him into the litter, which they then hoisted onto their shoulders and turned to leave the hall. 

Edmure’s raised hand stopped them. “As you can see, my lords…and ladies, I am still not fully healed from my injury on the battlefield yesterday, and may be under Maester Vyman’s care for some time. Therefore…  while my father is ill and I am unable to fulfil my duties as his heir… my sister, Lady Alyssa Tully of Riverhold… will be named acting Lady Paramount of the Trident. If she is unavailable or injured, my uncle, Ser Brynden Tully will be in charge. I trust they will do their best for the Riverlands, and I trust…you will all serve them as loyally as you do me, until I am ready to take up my responsibilities…once again. The people filling the hall nodded, and Edmure sighed with relief, slumped back into the litter, and signalled for the guards to take him away, and they left, heading for the maester’s chambers where Edmure was no doubt in for a scolding from Maester Vyman.

Alyssa meanwhile, was feeling almost every eye in the hall on her and Brynden as they filed out, but with great strain she maintained her composure, refusing to let her inner conflict show in front of the lords. She was overwhelmed not with her new responsibilities, after all she had known since leaving Riverhold days ago that defeat on the field meant the fall of the entire Riverlands; but with the trust Edmure had just placed in her.

While she had been acting as effective Lady Paramount; at least in terms of army command, for weeks now, that had really been a case of sheer necessity. Alyssa had assumed command of the forces of the Riverlands as Lord Hoster’s eldest child in the Riverlands capable of doing so; and even had her father or brother wished to revoke that power from her, they had not had the capability to do so; trapped in Riverrun as they were.

That was vastly different, however, from her brother claiming in front of the most powerful lords of the Trident, that he trusted her to act in his stead. That he felt that  _ she _ , Alyssa, was the most capable of ruling the Riverlands in his stead, and that of their father, of course. At that, Alyssa mentally kicked herself, remembering that she had yet to visit him, having been too preoccupied worrying if Edmure would live to spare a thought for her ailing father, whose condition had only been worsened by the moons of siege.

Noticing her hands shaking almost imperceptibly, Alyssa pressed them together to hide her shaking.

_ Acting Paramount of the Trident? I’m the lady of a small castle on the River Road, I knew if Edmure and Father died someday I might have to inherit Riverrun, but I never could have been prepared for this.  _

_ What would Father do? Family, Duty, Honor, Father would do his duty. Just as I must now do mine, just as generations of Tullys have before me. _

Alyssa took a deep breath, and turned to her uncle. “Tywin Lannister still holds Stone Hedge and Raventree Hall. Take command of our outriders, if Tywin stops either of those castles, I want it under siege within days. If he abandons them, then I want them back in Tully hands before he can change his mind. Whatever he does, I want to know about as soon as he does it. I trust you with this duty, uncle.”

Ser Brynden smiled. “I’ll see it done, my lady.”

Alyssa glanced at Ser Ryman. “Ser Ryman, having over a thousand men in Riverrun for nearly three moons has eaten deeply into our provisions. I need you to send a raven to your lord father, and have him send what food he can spare down from the Twins.” Ser Ryman nodded, and then headed off to the ravenry. She then turned to Lords Clement Piper and Karyl Vance. 

“Lord Clement. You and Lord Karyl will travel with your forces to Riverhold. There, you will collect Ser Jaime and the other prisoners, and escort them to Riverrun under guard. If any attempt is made to try and free them, kill the Kingslayer first.”

The two men nodded, and left to organise their men. Alyssa then turned to the remaining high lord of the Trident left in the hall;  Jonos Bracken, leaning on a cane, chest wrapped in bandages after his wounds at the Camps. “Lord Jonos. In the name of my brother, and my lord father, I thank you for your efforts so far. Your support of House Tully in this war has cost you all your men, your seat, and now nearly your life. House Tully is grateful for your loyalty.”

“Those damn Lannisters have my castle, Lady Alyssa.” Lord Jonos snarled, before he hissed painfully as the act of indignantly rising to his feet pulled at his still healing ribs. “What did you think I would do, just stop and let them have it? I’ll fight with everything I have left before I leave Stone Hedge in Lannister hands.”

“Which is not much.” Alyssa’s tone was matter-of-fact. “I appreciate your loyalty, my lord, I do, but you have ten riders left. Ten! Whether you admit it or not, House Bracken can no longer contribute on the field.” Lord Jonos opened his mouth to protest, before Alyssa held up her hand. “On the field, I said. You can still contribute in another way. When I gathered the Houses who had not given their full strength, many such as Vypren were doubtful of our ability to win, and didn’t send us as many as they could.

With Lord Tywin now in retreat, they may think differently. Your men will have the fastest horses in our stables, and I want them to ride for Harroway, Greenwater and Maidenpool. They will have letters bearing my seal, commanding them to send the remainder of their armsmen to Riverrun. I will send ravens as well, but ravens can be attacked by hawks, shot down or just ignored. Your men must not be.”

“They won’t be, my lady.” Lord Jono’s face held a determined look, and he moved to leave before Alyssa raised her hand again.

“And Lord Jonos? I was serious about remembering your loyalties. With reinforcements from the other Houses, we should have enough men to join Lord Vypren and begin the siege of Stone Hedge in earnest. Before long, the Lannisters will starve, and you will have your seat back.” Lord Jonos grinned ferally, before leaving.

With the hall now empty, Alyssa blew out a long breath, before sinking into the nearest chair to her. When she felt the soft cushions, she realised with shock that she was sitting where she had never thought to sit, in the high seat of the Tullys, where her brother and father had sat, and every Lord and Lady of Riverrun before her.  _ But I am not the Lady of Riverrun. _ She got up from the seat and left the hall, deciding at last to visit her lord father.

Hoster Tully’s solar looked out over the Red Fork. The window let in a good amount of light, which illuminated Lord Hoster himself lying on a bed. Alyssa stifled a gasp. The last time she had seen her father, he had been a powerful, red-headed warrior who likely would have led the charge against the Lannisters himself, sword swinging, whether his bannermen followed or not. Now, he looked to have aged two decades in two years. The fire was gone from his hair and beard, leaving only a ghostly white. With the color of his hair, seemed to have gone his strength. Her lord father was almost a ghost, this shadow of Hoster Tully didn’t even seem capable of lifting a longsword anymore, much less swinging one. In battle, he would be crushed under the weight of his own plate.

Lord Hoster weakly raised his head, having heard her come in. “Alyssa.”

Alyssa bowed her head to hide the tears in her eyes at the sight of such a strong man, a warrior, reduced to this. “Father”.

He smiled. “I saw. From the window… I saw it. Heard the screams. Such sweet sounds. Was it you?”

Alyssa nodded, still trying to hide her tears. “Yes, Father, it was me, and Uncle Brynden, and Edmure. He rode out of Riverrun to help us, my lord.”

Hoster grasped his beard weakly. “I heard you scream his name. Heard it from all the way up here… Something ill must have happened. How… how is my son?”

Alyssa’s face darkened. “Edmure took a wound, his leg broken when he was unhorsed by the Mountain. It was a clean break, however, and Maester Vyman says he will most likely heal in time. The fractured leg, however will mean he is out of the war for a moon at least.”

Hoster nodded as he absorbed this information. “The Mountain? Cat’s folly with the Imp must have truly angered Lord Tywin.”

“He’ll be even angrier now his son is locked in my dungeon, my lord.” A satisfied smile spread across Alyssa’s face at the memory of that day.

Hoster frowned. “You have the Kingslayer… yes, Edmure and Vyman showed me the raven. That was well done. But now we will be accused of breaking the King’s Peace… so it seems for the second time in my living memory… Riverrun will be defying the crown.”

Alyssa’s face was set at that. “As I swore to you, my lord, Riverrun and the Western border are secure. And if the Lannisters try to march on us again, I will do my duty. For now though, my lord, I must take my leave, and see to our losses, and reform our army, it seems we will need it in the days to come.” A clicking of boots behind her caused her to spin and reach for her sword, only to relax when she saw her uncle’s smiling face.

“My lady, my lord brother.”

Hoster smiled. “Brynden, it seems… my decision to send you to Alyssa rather than Lysa was… fortunate.” He broke out into a fit of coughing, and instantly his brother and daughter were at his elbows, helping him to sit up.

Brynden nodded grimly. “Aye, from what Cat says, Lysa will not help us. She refused to give Cat any swords when she left the Vale, or even to give her own captain of the guard a thousand men to make safe the Mountains of the Moon.” Hoster shook his head sadly, and the two brothers stood there awkwardly for a few moments. Sensing that they needed time to talk alone, Alyssa let herself out. Just as she turned to descend the stairs, her father’s weak voice caught her ears.

“I know I said this at Pyke all those years ago… but you make me proud Alyssa..”

Alyssa felt a surge of emotions rush through her, mainly pride, and knowing that she needed time to process them, gave a simple answer. “I am a Tully, Father, and I know our words.” All three Tullys in that room shared a nod at that, before Alyssa turned and departed, heading for the guest chamber Riverrun’s steward, Utherydes Wayn, had set up for her. As Alyssa slid into the bed as the sun began to sink over the Red Fork, the words she had spoken of to her father and uncle floated into the forefront of her mind.

_ Family, Duty, Honor _ .  _ And in that order _ she thought to herself, as she drifted off to sleep, content in the knowledge that Riverrun was secure and that the Lannister armies rampaging through the Riverlands had been shattered.  _ Tomorrow, we can start planning our counterattack, and show the Lannisters that they aren’t the only ones who pay their debts. _


	28. Dolphin and She-Wolf

The Starks reached Riverrun just after dawn. Alyssa watched from the ramparts as the northern host wound its way over the horizon, a long steel snake made of pikemen, knights and archers. As they drew nearer, she began to be able to make out the banners flying over the host. The Umber’s chained giant. The flayed man of Bolton and the white sunburst of Karstark and countless more. First amongst them all was the grey direwolf of House Stark, running over a field of snow. Squinting at the now quite close head of the column, she could make out an unmistakable flash of red from one of the riders. 

_ Catelyn. _

Moving down from the ramparts, Alyssa commanded the men to open the Water Gate and then headed down to the Great Hall, ready to do her duty and greet the Starks... and then after that, in private she would have her sister’s reasons for starting this foolishness. She hoped for Catelyn’s sake, they were sound ones.

As Catelyn Stark approached Riverrun, she felt a tear come to her eye as she remembered her girlhood days as Catelyn Tully in that castle. Riverrun’s red walls rose familiar from the Trident, firm as ever, although all around Riverrun, fires burned and banners flew over army camps being erected even as she watched. Catelyn saw sigils of great houses and high lords of the Trident; her father’s bannermen. The trout of Tully and the silver eagle of Mallister were prominent, along with the blazons of Piper, Vance, Bracken, Vypren, Roote and many other Riverlords. 

One sigil Catelyn didn’t recognise, however, was a shield divided vertically, with the left side blue and the right side red, with a dolphin emblazoned upon it facing the red. While she did not recognise it, it was prominent among the men, many armsmen wearing that livery; though not as many as other powerful Riverlands Houses such as Mallister or, she was shocked to note, Frey.

_ So it seems Walder Frey told the truth. That dolphin then, must be the arms of my “sister”. _

The familiar sound of the Water Gate opening echoed over the river, and Catelyn looked up to see a boat being launched from the Water Stair. Raising her hand, she signalled for a halt. Galbart Glover, leading the van, was the closest noble and he looked at her with concern.

“My lady?”

Catelyn motioned to the boat. “It seems my brother has sent a welcoming party. Robb and I will enter Riverrun to speak with him and find out the situation, while we are away, Master Galbart, you have command.” Galbart Glover nodded, and briskly turned, already ordering the column to spread out and set up tents. 

As the boat travelled across the Tumblestone, Catelyn felt a rush of emotion strike her, and her eyes filled with tears, something Robb obviously noticed. “Mother?”

“Nothing, Robb.” A wistful smile crossed Catelyn’s face. ‘The last time I crossed this river, I was heading to the North, holding a babe in swaddling clothes. Now, the babe wears plate and mail and has his own seat. It just brought home to me exactly how long it has been since I have seen Riverrun.”

Robb blushed red at that, then he turned serious, looking at the approaching castle. “Not a very large castle is it? I would have expected the seat of the Paramounts of the Trident to be bigger.”

Even though she had not lived in Riverrun for over a decade, the Tully in Catelyn Stark arose at this, and she felt obliged to defend her childhood home. “Riverrun may not be as large as Winterfell, but it is just as strong in its own way. The walls are thick and solid, and the river comes right to the walls. In time of danger, the Tullys open the sluice gate up river, surrounding the castle in a moat a hundred feet wide. The towers command the view for leagues around and the catapults on the walls spell death to anyone trying to land by boat without their leave.” Looking up involuntarily at the large catapults on Riverrun’s ramparts, and realizing he was travelling in a small wooden boat over a very deep river while wearing mail, Robb shuddered.

As the boat pulled up at the Water Stair, three guards with hooked poles grasped hold of the boat and drew it towards the stairs. Catelyn got out of the boat, ignoring the water lapping at her boots with long practice, and turned to meet the man who led them. “Ser Robin. It is good to see you well after so many years.”

Ser Robin Ryger, Riverrun’s captain of the guards, was stouter than Catelyn remembered him, and his beard had turned grey, but he was the same in all other respects, still serving House Tully loyally with his full ability. “My lady. It is good to see you back in Riverrun. I am commanded to take you to the Great Hall.”

Catelyn nodded. “Of course, it will be good to see Edmure again. How fares my lord father?”

Ser Robin winced at her assumption that Edmure was in command, but knew it was not his place to correct her, and so he escorted her towards the Great Hall. As she entered the courtyard, Catelyn noticed smiths desperately hammering away at weapons on makeshift forges while women of all ages helped bandage wounds on men screaming in pain.

_ Riverrun has seen a major battle recently. _

Ser Robin reached the door to the Great Hall, opened it for her, bowed briefly and left. Catelyn walked in, the door closing behind her. Robb, being a typical lad of fifteen, was hungry from the journey and had stopped at the kitchens as they walked past, promising to join her at the Great Hall soon. Riverrun’s hall was normally filled with people feasting, but today it was oddly silent. As she neared the centre of the room, the side door opened and a figure strode in.

At first, she thought it was Edmure, and opened her mouth to call out to him, but the sound died in her throat as the figure neared. While this person shared the same hair colour as herself and her brother, the hair was too long for it to be Edmure, and indeed, as they drew closer, Catelyn could tell that the body shape was that of a female. The woman walked into the light, and Catelyn could see that she was wearing blue oiled ringmail over worn leather armour while a sword hung at her side as if she was born with it, the sigil on her chest the same mysterious one that Catelyn had noticed in the camps in front of Riverrun.

The mysterious woman grabbed Catelyn,  and in her second of surprise, embraced her, though Catelyn saw a look of disdain flash on her face briefly. “Sister. Welcome to Riverrun.”

Catelyn’s mind began to work again, and realizing who the woman was, she pushed her firmly away. “I take it you’re this Alyssa I’ve heard so much about.”

“That I am” she said, with a smile. “And you must be my sister Catelyn. It is good to finally meet you after so many years.”

Folding her arms, Catelyn’s face was as hard as stone. “You are my father’s shame, the Rivers girl.”

The woman’s smile faded, but she held out her hand nonetheless. “Alyssa Tully, Lady of Riverhold, and as I said, it is good to meet you at last sister. We have much to discuss.”

Steadily, Catelyn refused to take the hand. “You have no right to use the Tully name or command Father’s bannermen, bastard. You’re a Rivers, and even if you are legitimised, you are a bastard, and the shame of my family, and that’s all you will ever be.”

Alyssa’s face was now set as hard as Catelyn’s. “Born a Rivers, yes. But by the word of both His Grace King Robert and our own lord father; you now speak to Alyssa of the House Tully, Lady of Riverhold, Warden of the Western Hills and acting Lady of Riverrun and Lady Paramount of the Trident.”

_ What? _

Hoster Tully’s eldest daughter was barely able to believe her ears. She’d known about Riverhold of course, King Robert had off-handedly mentioned it once while at Winterfell while drunk and reminiscing about Pyke.  Ned’s quiet chuckles had led to Catelyn inquiring about what it was that amused him so, which eventually resulted in Robert explaining the whole story.

While irritated that her father had not only dishonored her lady mother like that, but had made the bastard a Tully, she was mollified by the fact that Alyssa was in the Riverlands, and unlike Jon Snow, not any threat to the claim of her children, because Edmure and his heirs came before any of the Starks in terms of inheriting Riverrun. She was content, therefore, to be happy for her half-sister doing so well for herself, as Catelyn would never have to see her, and wish her well.

That was very different, however, from being forced to actually  _ see  _ the living reminder that Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Trident, had faults and weaknesses just like any other man, strutting around her father’s castle wearing Tully colours, though at least her sigil was different, and claiming authority she had no right to.

“Our father is Lord Paramount of the Trident” she snapped “and our brother acts in his stead if he is unable, do you mean to usurp their power so blatantly in our father’s own castle?” Before Alyssa could reply, Catelyn pressed on with her attack. “And what is this nonsense about you being the Warden of the Western Hills? There is no such title.” Leather creaked as Catelyn’s sister clenched her fists in her gloves, and she saw the younger woman visibly inhale, as if trying to calm herself. 

“Our lord father is unable to command, the siege was hard on him and he was quite ill already. As for Edmure” her eyes dropped, and the sight of her shoulders visibly slumping sent Catelyn’s heart into her throat. “Our brother was wounded days ago, during the fighting in the woods near Riverrun.”

Catelyn gasped, but Alyssa raised her hand, as if to stave off her sister’s worry.

“His leg was broken, but Maester Vyman says it will heal cleanly; he will recover provided that he rests. He will however, be unable to hold court for days or to fight for weeks yet, if not moons.” 

Now Alyssa smiled, and Catelyn felt a stab of anger burn through her, as her sister seemed happy that their brother was hurt. Alyssa’s next words, however, explained her happiness. 

“He wasn’t the only one, nor was he wounded in vain. The Mountain fell on us as we pursued Lord Tywin’s host across the river, and we were hard-pressed despite outnumbering them greatly. Edmure sallied from Riverrun, taking them in the rear and allowing us to rout the Lannisters. He was unhorsed, and broke his leg, while Lord Jason Mallister slew the Mountain, but was gravely wounded himself in doing so.” 

Alyssa paused to draw in a breath. “Thanks largely to Edmure’s actions, Riverrun is free and the Lannisters fleeing the Riverlands.” Alyssa couldn’t help but smile at the look on her sister’s face; equal parts pride and worry, the same look that according to Ser Marq Piper, had adorned her own face when she heard of Edmure’s injuries.

Catelyn shook her head in wonder as pieces began to fall into place. Tywin had retreated after the eastern camp was destroyed, she knew, and left two thousand to hold the riverbank against pursuit. Her sister must have eagerly chased Tywin across the river without properly scouting it first, and been ambushed by the Mountain. By the sounds of things, Edmure’s actions were the only reason Alyssa was still alive. Her fist clenched unconsciously at the thought of her brother being injured because of her younger sister’s foolishness. Before she could mention this, Alyssa continued speaking.

“Edmure held court for a few minutes yesterday, but the effort drained his strength and even now Maester Vyman tends to him. His last action before being taken to the maester’s chambers was to name me acting Paramount of the Trident in his stead” Alyssa blushed slightly, still getting used to the trust that her brother had placed in her, “so until our lord father or our brother are well enough; the Riverlands and this war are in my hands.”

Catelyn frowned; as Hoster’s elder daughter, by right she should command in his stead. She did accept Alyssa acting on her behalf while she was absent; after all she could hardly rule the Riverlands from Winterfell or Moat Cailin, but she was here now, and rightfully her younger sister should turn over command of the Tully forces to her. 

Waiting for a few heartbeats, Catelyn gave her younger sister time to say that she was now relinquishing control of the Riverlands to her, but she frowned as she realised Alyssa would do no such thing, instead deciding to explain the last of her titles. As she heard exactly what Alyssa being the Warden of the Western Hills entailed, Catelyn felt herself consumed with a sense of utter disdain for this woman standing there smirking and boasting about her power.

“So this whole mess is your fault.” 

Catelyn’s voice could have frozen ice, and Alyssa’s eyes flashed as her fist clenched. “Excuse me?”

Had Catelyn been paying attention, she would have noticed that Alyssa’s eyes were all but aflame in the younger woman’s rage, but the stress of the past few moons had at last caught up with Catelyn, having needed to maintain her composure and keep calm for Robb’s sake, and she had finally found an excuse to release that rage.

“You said being Warden of the Western Hills makes you responsible for fending off attacks from the west, that means _you_ failed in your duty if the Lannisters are raiding” she snapped. “How can you claim to rule the Riverlands for Edmure if you can’t even defend one border? He was wounded because you couldn’t do your duty! This is _your fault!_ ”

“Enough!” Alyssa’s shout broke through Catelyn’s fury, and as the older woman turned on her sister angrily, her face went white as she saw Alyssa’s hand resting on the pommel of the gold-hilted sword at her waist.

“You dare blame  _ me  _ for this” Alyssa roared, her hair seeming like flames at that moment, her blue eyes blazing with rage. “I  _ did  _ my duty, I crushed the Kingslayers host and captured him as I promised Edmure, and if he hadn’t run straight into Tywin’s trap” snarling, she swiped her hand through the air as Catelyn nervously took a step back “and gotten his host smashed, we would have had the father and the son both, and gotten your precious husband back by now.”

Though no coward, Catelyn Stark was taken aback by the force of her sister’s fury, giving her the impression that she had crossed an invisible line that should not have been. Even as she was opening her mouth to try and mollify Alyssa, or even apologise, her younger sister struck back suddenly and viciously.

“Besides, if anyone’s to blame for this damn war, its  _ you. _ ”

Catelyn’s head snapped around and she stared Alyssa dead in the eyes. “Me?” she asked indignantly. “How could this be my fault?”

“You seized the damn Imp” Alyssa shouted, hands pulling at her hair in frustration, now pacing up and down as she tried to control herself. “In our lands, with Father’s bannermen, in his name, what the hell did you  _ think  _ Tywin was going to do? Send a raven and politely ask for his son back?” Alyssa shook her head in disbelief. “This is Tywin bloody Lannister we’re talking about here, he destroyed two of his own bannermen because they wouldn’t repay gold his father lent them, we’ll be lucky if he doesn’t tear Riverrun down and divert the Red Fork over the rubble.”

Alyssa’s head was in her hands now, and she slumped to the floor, as if that burst of emotion had drained all her strength. She didn’t seem angry now, only resigned and weary, and as she raised her head, Catelyn saw just how  _ exhausted  _ her sister was, how the events of the past few moons had taken their toll, both mentally, and physically; if the scars running across her face were any judge.

“By the Seven Catelyn” she groaned, tugging at her hair again, “what the hell possessed you to do something that stupid? And then to take him to the Eyrie; Hoster’s daughter taking Tywin’s son captive and taking him to the Eyrie, held by Hoster’s  _ other  _ daughter; no wonder Tywin invaded the Riverlands, because from his point of view, it would be easy to see this as  House Tully plotting against House Lannister.  _ Why?” _

Catelyn’s hand had flown to her mouth, the Lady of Winterfell gasping in horror at the magnitude of the error wrought by her hasty action, but Alyssa’s question struck a nerve. Summoning steel back into her spine, Catelyn straightened up and stared her sister dead in the face. “The Imp tried to kill my son” she said bluntly.

“What?” Alyssa gasped and jerked back slightly. “We...are talking about the same man, correct? Tyrion Lannister, heir to Casterly Rock, why the hell would he want or need to kill any of your children?”

In lieu of answering, Catelyn held up her hands, and Alyssa drew a quick breath when she saw the deep scars across her sister’s fingers, clearly not that old. “My son Bran was climbing one of the towers of Winterfell when he fell.” Wincing, Catelyn clenched her fist at the thought. “Bran has been climbing the walls of Winterfell since he could walk; he wouldn’t fall. He must have been pushed, and if that weren’t proof enough, a killer was sent to slit his throat when he was recovering from his fall.”

Alyssa arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. “And this led you to believe that the Imp did it how?”

Catelyn’s mouth hardened, as she held up her hand again. “The weapon was uncommonly fine for such a common killer; Valyrian steel, with a dragonbone hilt. Only someone very wealthy and powerful would have such a blade. I travelled to the capital, where a trusted friend informed me that the Imp won that dagger during the tourney for Prince Joffrey’s last nameday.”

Having both wielded and taken wounds from that very metal recently, Alyssa peered at Catelyn’s hands more closely and sure enough; the scars ran deep, but thin, implying that the weapon was both very sharp, and very well maintained. If the blade wasn’t Valyrian steel than it was certainly forged by a master smith the level found in a Great House’s seat. As much as she hated to admit it, Catelyn’s story was gaining credence. Something still troubled her, however.

“A  _ friend _ in the capital?” Alyssa asked skeptically. “Who do you know that knows that much about the activities of the royals and the Lannisters. Unless they personally saw the Imp accept the dagger, there’s no way they could know that for sure. The only way for that to happen would be for them to be in the royal box, or at least right next to it, where only Kingsguard and members of the Small Council are allowed to be.”

 

Catelyn’s eyes flicked back and forth hesitantly, before she sighed, realizing it was the only way that her sister would believe her. “It  _ was  _ a member of the Small Council. The Master of Coin, Lord Petyr Baelish. He has been a friend of mine since I was a girl.”

“Baelish…” Alyssa searched her memory, sure that name sounded familiar, before she snapped her fingers in realization. “That boy who fostered at Riverrun with you; the one Edmure called Littlefinger?” Catelyn’s nod was all the confirmation Alyssa needed and she shook her head in wonder. “The boy was so obsessed with you he challenged Brandon Stark for your hand, of course you went to him. He’d die before he betrayed you.” She blew out a long breath. “All right, let’s say I believe you and the Imp really did try to kill your Bran. Why the hell did you take him to the  _ Eyrie  _ of all places?”

Catelyn bowed her head at that; Alyssa had pointed out to her quite thoroughly how her actions must have looked to Lord Tywin, and she had no explanation. Simply put, she had panicked when she had seen her son’s potential murderer, and acted without thinking.

“It was the safest place I could think of at short notice. Riverrun was the first place Tywin would look, with Winterfell being the second, simply because it is so far away I’d never make it there with his son in tow. King’s Landing belonged to the Lannisters, even if I did take him to King Robert I’d never get a fair trial, so the Eyrie seemed the best remaining option.”

With a sigh, Alyssa accepted her sister’s reasoning on that point, but one thing remained to be said. “Do you know what damage your actions have wrought on the Riverlands, Catelyn?” Her elder sister shook her head wordlessly, and Alyssa slammed her fist into her palm in frustration. “Villages have been burned, women raped and children killed. Thousands, tens of thousands have given their lives to protect our home.”

She fixed Catelyn with a gaze so intense, the Lady of Winterfell thought for a moment she was being pierced clean through. “Every one of them died because the Imp tried to kill your boy.” Alyssa’s hand rested on the hilt of her sword briefly. “I understand why you did it. I don’t have any children of my own, but whether you admit it or not, you and I share blood. Your son is my nephew, he is my kin and you and I both know the Tully words.” 

Despite herself, Catelyn briefly smiled before her sister’s next words wiped it from her face. “But that doesn’t excuse what you did. You aren’t the only one who wants to hurt the Imp; I’d dearly slice his twisted head from his shoulders for trying to kill my nephew” unconsciously, she drew her blade an inch from the scabbard before looking down at her hand and sheathing the weapon “but this isn’t about me.”

“And it isn’t about you. Or House Stark, or House Tully.” Alyssa’s mouth twisted now, as if she saw something unpleasant in her sister. “This is about the Riverlands, and the thousands killed because you pulled the Lion’s tail, and fled into the mountains to hide from his wrath under the wings of the Falcon, without having the decency to so much as warn Father so that we could protect ourselves.” She growled in frustration. “I mean really, Catelyn, was a single raven too much to ask?”

“What are you talking about?” Catelyn’s face was white as milk now, as a horrible thought occurred to her. “I did send Father a warning, I swear to you on my children’s lives, I sent ravens to Winterfell and Riverrun from the Eyrie.”

“We never received any”. Alyssa’s face was now the same shade as her sister’s, as both women faced the horrifying realisation that one bird’s death had caused so much trouble. “A hawk must have taken it.”

There was silence in the hall now, Alyssa and Catelyn both contemplating the revelations they had received during this conversation, before a young man with curly hair the same colour as the two women walked into the hall, sword swinging at his side. At the sight, Catelyn smiled weakly at him, before glancing at Alyssa.

“My lady, this is my son, and your first nephew; Robb Stark, acting Lord of Winterfell in my Ned’s absence.” She turned to Robb, indicating Alyssa with a wave of her hand. “Robb, this is Lady Alyssa Tully of Riverhold, Warden of the Western Hills, Acting Lady of Riverrun and Lady Paramount of the Trident, and my half-sister, your lady aunt.”

Robb bowed his head in respect to his elder. “My lady.” He then turned back to Catelyn. “Mother, what’s happening? I came to see was was taking so long, the men will be growing impatient.”

Catelyn cursed under her breath, the intense discussion having completely driven from her mind the reason she was in her father’s castle; that being to convince her father to open the gates and extend the hospitality of Riverrun to the Northern forces. Flushing slightly, she glanced at Alyssa, but before she could speak, her sister guessed from Robb’s words what Catelyn was about to ask.

“If you came to aid us, the least we can do is give you a good meal in return. The hospitality of Riverrun is yours, as with any of your bannermen, Lord Stark” Alyssa smiled “though your men of course will have to camp outside.” She glanced at her sister, and nephew. “It was good to meet you Robb, Catelyn; if you’ll both excuse me, I should see to the rest of our guests.” Alyssa called for a servant, and ordered them to have bread and salt ready in the hall, before leaving to order the gate opened and to welcome the Northern lords to Riverrun. 


	29. Interlude 3 - North Map

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With the arrival of the Northern host at Riverrun comes a need to show the power distribution among the Northmen. As I mentioned a while ago; my free trial to Photoshop ran out, and my friend who does these has his own work to do, so this will regretfully be much simpler and less refined; I'm no artist.

After reading the comments from TheMostAugustCaesar (thank you by the way), I've re-done my map of the North to adjust the location of House Hornwood. 

Also, since it came up, the Northern Mountain Clans are also subservient to Winterfell, but due to how independent the clans are, calling them up is nearly impossible. You can't just whistle them up via raven; the Lord or Lady of Winterfell has to personally go to each clan (there are roughly 24 in total) and feast with them while winning their support. Chances of getting them for a Southern war are practically zero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I'm sure at least one person will ask about House Glover since they aren't shown on the map: I'm using the book Houses for this. Deepwood Motte is a small castle aptly described as "a wooden pisspot on a hill" and the Glovers are a Masterly House rather than Lordly, which equates to the same as a Southern Knightly House by most people's guess (Martin isn't clear on that.) 
> 
> The Glovers and Tallharts are directly sworn to House Stark, hence Deepwood and Torrhen's Square being in the Stark area of control; but due to this they are the "go-to" House whenever Winterfell wants something done. For those who want to know how strong the Glovers and Tallharts are, however, this is the breakdown of the 6,000 Stark men.
> 
> 3,500 from the Winter Town and the lands directly around Winterfell.  
> 2,000 from the Wolfswood.  
> 500 from Torrhen's Square.  
> The Stony Shore and Sea Dragon Point are said to be all but unpopulated; mainly deserted beaches, forests and bogs so I doubt the Starks could draw any meaningful force from them. Probably why the Ironborn took them without a fight.
> 
> As with the other maps, if you think I've forgotten a House, got a location wrong or given one too much land and or power; comment and I'll either explain my reasoning or change it.
> 
> To show my work slightly however; House Karstark in the books has raised close to 3,000 men and are clearly hitting the dregs with the last few they raised, so it seems their total power is around 3,000. Since the Karstark lands are heavily forested, which affects the number of villages you can have to draw men from, I simply compared the quality and size of the other lords lands to the Karstark lands to work out their strength.
> 
> On another note: after noticing several inconsistencies among the chapters, I'll be spending the next few days editing and repolishing things. There will be no new chapter until at least Thursday, so sorry if you jump at alerts.


	30. The City of Kings

Drumming her fingers impatiently on the Small Council table, Queen Regent Cersei Lannister waited impatiently for the other members of the Small Council to arrive so that Varys could explain the reason he had called a meeting so urgently. Eventually, the Grand Maester, wheezing, found his seat, and Varys cleared his throat.

 

“Thank you for coming so swiftly, my lords. I have news of the war. My little birds in the Riverlands have finally begun to sing, but the news their songs carry is ill I fear, Your Grace.” Varys extracted a scroll from his sleeve and slid it in reach of Cersei, who grabbed for it desperately as he continued speaking, hopeful that the message would disprove his words. “Not a week ago, there was a battle outside Riverrun. Your lord father had divided his host into three for his siege, and Alyssa Tully fell on his eastern camp in the night, and crushed it.”

 

“This can’t be true.” Cersei’s eyes were wide open, staring over the Small Council table at nothing in particular, mind totally incapable of processing the news she had just received from Lord Varys.

 

“I’m afraid it is, my Queen.” The Master of Whisperers gave a regretful smile, or at least, that was what he appeared to be doing. 

 

Cersei knew better than anyone that Varys said one thing and meant another; after all you could never trust anyone to speak the truth in King’s Landing, a fact Lord Eddard had learned to his cost far too late. Desperately, she snatched at the paper, but to her horror, the words before her eyes confirmed Varys’ story. Alyssa Tully had outplayed her father, and a full third of the Lannister host had paid the price. Before she could even begin to think of something, anything to say in response, another voice spoke out from the other end of the table.

 

“And where does that leave us now, Lord Varys?”

 

The queen glared at her hated brother, sitting at a table he had no right to, the golden pin proclaiming his position as Hand of the King gleaming proudly on his chest. Ever since he’d arrived nearly two moons ago with a letter from their father appointing him acting Hand in Tywin’s stead, the Imp had been pushing her aside and throwing his new authority around. Not only had he removed Ser Janos Slynt as head of the City Watch, but had the audacity to appoint his pet sellsword as his replacement.  In this case, however, Cersei reluctantly agreed with him, as she too wanted to know the state of the war now.

 

Infuriatingly, Varys tilted his head in that manner that meant he was about to find a way of avoiding the question. “My lord Hand, I am not a military man. I could not hope to guess Lord Tywin’s next move.”

 

Cersei barely managed to hide her anger at this delay; successfully suppressing her growl of rage by clamping her teeth together. “I am not asking you for Father’s strategy” she forced out through gritted teeth. “I am asking you for the state of the war. Strengths of our enemies, and their positions. You should know that at least.” Her eyes met his in a venomous stare that the Master of Whispers did not flinch away from. “That is, if you are still fit for your post.”

 

After a moment, however, Varys bowed his head. “Very well, your Grace.” Dramatically, he heaved a false sigh. “But do not be surprised if the news is not what you would wish to hear.” Closing his eyes for a moment to recall the messages sent by his agents around Westeros, he began.

 

“After the recent battles near Riverrun, Lord Tywin retreats west; according to my little birds, marching back to the Golden Tooth with no more than six thousand men following him. The Mountain who Rides was killed in battle with Lord Jason Mallister, himself gravely wounded and his fate uncertain.”

 

Cersei’s gasp of shock and horror was joined by Tyrion and much of the Small Council. The Mountain, dead? Varys nodded gravely, but whether his regret was feigned or not, Cersei was unable to be sure, and as he continued, she found she had more important things to worry about.

 

“Ser Gregor, however bloodied Lady Alyssa’s forces badly in the woods near Riverrun before he fell, leaving her with anywhere between nine and ten thousand men, my little birds estimate.”

 

_ Ten thousand?  _ Cersei’s beautiful face was creased with a frown, something was wrong here. “Why would Father retreat? His disadvantage wasn’t great enough to warrant abandoning the Riverlands; his men are better trained and better equipped. If he gave battle, he may have won the day.”

 

Her proclamation was met by raised eyebrows, and for those with even the slightest knowledge of warfare, knowing smiles as they shook their heads at her ignorance. Fortunately for Cersei, her embarrassment was soon relieved by Lord Varys, who provided her an unknowing way out.

 

“Even if he could overcome them, your Grace, the Tullys were not the only threat presented to Lord Tywin.” He favoured her with a smile, before it faded quickly as he turned to address the whole of the Small Council.

 

“The worst has happened, my lords. Winterfell has risen at last.”

 

Petyr Baelish raised an eyebrow in interest, while Cersei turned milk white, idly noting her brother swear under his breath.

 

Varys nodded grimly, wringing his hands and by all appearances, genuinely worried about this new development. “The Northern host was reported just days north of the Tumblestone, but the last time my little birds sang of that was over a week ago. By now, they may well have reached Riverrun.”

 

Still frozen in shock, Cersei could do nothing but sit there and so it was Tyrion who asked the question on everyone’s lips.

 

“And their strength?”

 

Varys pursed his lips. “Close to twenty thousand, so I’m told.”

 

Tyrion clenched a fist. “Father can’t stand against those numbers.”

 

“No, my lord Hand. My sources say that Lord Tywin has sent orders for a new host to be raised at Lannisport.” Varys clasped his hands together. “I believe he means to return to Casterly Rock and augment this host with his remaining men.”

 

“Father fleeing with his tail between his legs; from a woman.” Tyrion chuckled darkly. “Oh Father, if Ellyn Reyne could only see you now.”

 

This insult snapped Cersei from her stupor, and she glared at her hated younger brother, mocking Father and the family name yet again. Fortunately for the twisted little imp, before Cersei could throttle him for his insults, Varys continued speaking and she had bigger problems.

 

“As to the wider realm, the news is equally grim. As this council knows, not a moon ago, Renly Baratheon wed Margaery Tyrell at Highgarden. Less than a week ago, I received news that the Stormlands and the Reach have bent the knee to him as their new king, and sworn him their swords.”

 

“Traitors.” 

 

Tyrion glanced across the table to see his sister’s face grow red with fury as she clenched her fists in rage. 

 

“Traitors! How dare Renly betray his brother’s memory like that, by attempting to steal the throne from Joffrey; his own flesh and blood! And how dare those lords abandon their rightful king to follow that traitor”

 

Noting to himself that Cersei was quite happy to remember that her children were Baratheons, not Lannisters when it suited her, Tyrion rolled his eyes when he heard her promising that Renly and all who followed him would pay dearly for their betrayal of the Crown. Before his sister could work herself up into a full-blown tantrum, though he may have been too late for that, Tyrion decided to intervene.

 

“What about Lord Stannis?” Suddenly finding himself the target of every pair of eyes in the Small Council room, Tyrion stared directly at Varys. “Stannis is Renly’s elder brother, is he not?” Tyrion drummed his fingers on the table thoughtfully. “What does he have to say about his younger brother’s foolishness?”

 

Varys looked down at that, his shoulders slumping. “I know not, my lord Hand.” The plump man sighed in defeat, admitting something he did not want to.  “My little birds can only fly to places willing to receive them. Stannis has locked down Dragonstone; none can enter and no-one can leave.” He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I hear whispers, certainly, Stannis is hiring sellswords, he is gathering a fleet, but unfortunately no more than that.”

 

Before Cersei could unleash her venomous tongue on Varys again, Tyrion clapped his hands sharply.

 

“So. What you are saying, Varys, is that this city is likely to come under attack within the year; possibly from land or sea depending on whether Stannis and Renly come to terms, and Father is fleeing west with his tail between his legs. The Tullys and Starks soon will be chasing him into the Westerlands, and he will be unable to give us any support.”

 

After a moment, Varys smiled wryly. “Eloquently put, my lord Hand.” 

 

Gazing at the ceiling in thought, Tyrion closed his eyes for a moment. “How many men does Renly have?”

 

“My lord Hand…”

 

Tyrion cut him off with a raised hand. “We don’t have time to play around Varys. How. Many?”

 

Varys sighed in defeat, his usual playful tone gone. “My little birds lost count at sixty thousand, though they estimate closer to eighty or ninety. It could even be a hundred.”

 

“A hundred thousand.” Tyrion went as pale as a ghost at this, as did the rest of the Small Council. After a moment, he glanced at Bronn, who was cursing under his breath. “Father always said one man on a wall was worth ten underneath. Can the Watch hold off that many?”

 

Bronn’s only response was amused laughter. After a moment, he stopped and glanced at Tyrion. “You’re serious, Imp?” He shook his head, smile still playing about his lips. “By your father’s word, I’d need ten thousand gold cloaks to hold off Renly and his ‘undred thousand. I’ve got six, and most of those signed up for pay and food.” He snorted briefly. “If it came to a fight, I don’t even think I could count on two thousand of ‘em not to cry and beg for their mothers.”

 

“Not enough.” The worry in Tyrion’s voice was clear to all who heard him. He tapped a finger on the surface of the table. “We have Renly marching up from the South and Stannis lurking on Dragonstone waiting to make his move.” He sighed in frustration. “Attacks from land and sea, and we don’t have the men to deal with either.”

 

“So we’ll need to find more.”

 

It was Cersei who had spoken, and necks turned as every eye in the room fixed upon her. After a moment, it was Tyrion who broke the stunned silence. “And just where, dear sister” he asked sardonically, “will we find these men?”

 

Cersei had an answer ready for him, and she smirked. “The Crownlands of course.” No one spoke against her, and confidently, she continued, feeling that she was right. “The area surrounding this city can yield fifteen, maybe twenty thousand men. The lords of the Crownlands are sworn to the King above all else, they are bound to answer when called upon.” Pleased with her brilliance, Cersei smiled at the blank, staring faces surrounding her, sure that her genius had shocked them into silence.

 

Mouths gaping at the utter stupidity Cersei was spouting, the Small Council glanced hesitantly among one another, even the normally unflappable Varys frozen in disbelief. Tyrion went to speak, only for no sound to leave his lips. He opened and closed his mouth twice, before throwing up his hands in defeat.

 

Delighted to see her brother lost for words, Cersei’s lips curved into a smirk. “Something wrong, Tyrion?”

 

He opened and closed his mouth wordlessly, before setting his jaw in determination. The time for coddling Cersei was over, he would make her see her error if he had to beat it into her thick skull. “You...do know that the Crownlands hate us, dear sister?”

 

Cersei’s mouth gaped like a fish, and Tyrion inwardly smiled at the sight. “Why would they hate us?” She sounded truly offended at the thought that any could dare to dislike her, Tyrion knew she didn’t give a care for him. Even Varys was shaking his head now, and Tyrion breathed deeply through his nose, trying to calm himself. Speaking slowly, as if to a child, he attempted to explain things to Cersei.

 

“Dear sister. The Crownlands are sworn to the King. They have been sworn to the King, since Aegon landed in Westeros nearly three hundred years ago.” Cersei’s face was still blank and staring, so holding back a sigh he continued. “Those Houses prospered under House Targaryen. The dragons made them great, and they served the Crown loyally.”

 

“And they are still sworn to the Crown.” Cersei spat in exasperation. “Nothing has changed, so what are you all so worried about?”

 

Tyrion breathed deeply again. “They didn’t serve the Crown, they served House Targaryen.” He clenched his fist briefly. “It may please you to know, dear sister, that we have your late husband to blame for our current problem.”

 

“Robert?” Cersei’s tone was equal parts disdain and curiosity. “What’s the old drunk done to us now?”

 

Pycelle was bleating something about their beloved fallen King Robert, but Tyrion tuned him out in favour of focusing on Cersei. “You know better than anyone how much Robert hated the Targaryens, you’d have heard him complain about them often enough.” Cersei snarled at the reminder, and Tyrion held back a smile, though with great effort. “After the war, our dear former King refused to have anything to do with the “dragon-lovers” as he put it. He went out of his way to ignore and alienate the lords of the Crownlands, and accepting Father’s actions didn’t help matters.”

 

“You’re blaming Father for this?” Cersei was clearly beginning to build up into a rant, but skillfully, Tyrion cut her off before she could get going.

 

“In part.” Cersei gasped in shock, and Tyrion seized the brief opportunity granted by her momentary silence. “When Father sacked this city, he not only killed hundreds or thousands of Crownlanders and their families, but he slew or sent to the Wall the garrison commanders and the remaining Targaryen loyalists in the city.”

 

“So? Why does that matter?” Cersei’s arms were folded, uncaring as she stared at Tyrion, the remainder of the Small Council watching with interest.

 

Patience gone, Tyrion slammed his fist into the surface of the table, wincing with pain.

“It matters, because as the most loyal Targaryen supporters, the nobility of the Crownlands were filling most of those positions.” Frustrated that Cersei still did not understand, Tyrion flexed his fingers instinctively to ensure they were not broken, grimacing at the jolt of pain. “Let’s take House Thorne for example. Ser Alliser Thorne was fighting for Aerys when Father took the city. Father gave him the choice of taking the black or losing his head. His brother, is now the Lord Thorne. What do you think he’ll say, when the House that sent his brother off into the freezing North asks for his help?”

 

Cersei paled at that, and Tyrion nodded grimly. “When Father sacked the city, he did so knowing that House Lannister would be hated here for generations to come. He didn’t care; Robert would have gladly smashed the “dragon-loving” Crownlands nobles if they made trouble, and as for the smallfolk. Well, you know what Father says about that. “A lion doesn’t concern itself with the opinions of sheep.”

 

Touching his forehead, he sighed after a moment. “Father always wanted to be feared instead of loved and that’s all fine and good when you have the power to make them fear you. But should that strength falter, then in time of need those who feared you will now hate you, and are more likely to fight against you, then to help you.”

 

Cersei worried at her lip with her teeth unconsciously. “Are you saying that the Crownlands will rebel against us as well?” The undisguised worry in her voice pleased Tyrion, as she was finally seeing the true scale of the problem. Most if not all of the gold cloaks were from the city and its surrounding environs, and if their families were fighting against Joffrey, many of them would likely turn their cloaks. Fortunately, she was not entirely right.

 

“Yes and no.” Cersei’s head turned sharply to glance at Tyrion, who clasped his hands together, now happy that Cersei was listening to him. “The Crownlands can be split into two main areas; the mainland, and Dragonstone and the narrow sea islands sworn to it. Whether we like it or not; Robert named Stannis Lord of Dragonstone, so Dragonstone and its bannermen are his to command.”

 

Cersei’s eyes were wide as she stared at her brother, now seeing the small man in a new light. “How can you know all this?”

 

The smile she received in return was both mocking, and gentle. “I’m the Imp, dear sister, reading books is what I do.” He glanced longingly at the jug of Dornish red in the centre of the table. “Well, that and drinking.”

 

Cersei snorted, and now back on familiar ground, she returned her attention to Tyrion’s explanation of the situation. 

 

“Dragonstone, Driftmark, Claw Isle, Sweetport Sound and Massey’s Hook can yield close to five thousand men at most. Not a large force, but a problem nonetheless. With his ships, he could be at the city gates in days with a good wind.” Tyrion drummed his fingers on the table in thought for a moment as he allowed his men to drift for a moment. “I may have some ideas for what to do about that.” Abruptly, he sat bolt upright and glanced at his pet sellsword, standing by the door. “Bronn, remind me to visit the Street of Steel when we are done here.”

 

Without waiting for an answer, he turned back to Cersei. “Now where was I? Oh yes. The mainland lords. Father crushed them badly in the Sack, and their strength has not entirely recovered. Fortunately, they hate Stannis and Renly almost as much as they hate us, simply because they’re Baratheons. They’ll unite to follow none but a Targaryen, so levying the Crownlands en masse is impossible. No, what we must do, dear sister, is try to win a even few of the most powerful Houses to our side.”

 

This sounded far more reasonable to Cersei than trying to raise up an army from a bunch of die-hard Targaryen supporters, and she smiled as Tyrion laid out their options.

 

“There’s no hope in raising any support from Crackclaw Point first of all, that’s lost to us no matter what we do. The most loyal Targaryen supporters came from the Point, and it seems safe to say they’re still dragon men at heart.”

 

Giving into temptation, he reached for the jug of wine on the table, Tyrion poured himself a glass and took a deep drink to soothe his throat before he continued talking. “As for the rest, I may need some help with that. It has been years since I read about the Crownlands.” He turned to Varys. “Who are the major players there, Varys? I don’t need details, just the names. I should remember from there.”

 

Appearing disgruntled at being restricted from presenting his opinion, the plump man nonetheless did his best to answer. “Well, my lord Hand, aside from those in this city, his Grace, the Small Council and other important offices, then the most powerful Houses, I would say…” he took a moment to think before answering, “would be the Rykkers of Duskendale, the Stauntons of Rook’s Rest and Buckwells of the Antlers. After them come the Wendwaters, Chelsteds, Rosbys, Stokeworths and Hayfords.”

 

Tyrion nodded thoughtfully, eyes closed as he pictured the lands surrounding the city. “Thank you, Lord Varys.” His eyes snapped open. “All right then. Antlers and Rook’s Rest border the main road to the Riverlands. With the Trident’s loyalty to the Crown in question, it would be best to allow Buckwell and Staunton to keep their men at home; if Alyssa Tully attacks the city, they’ll be our first line of defence.” Taking another drink of wine, he swirled the small amount remaining in his glass thoughtfully. “House Rykker would be an ideal ally. They control huge tracts of land on the coast of Blackwater Bay, and with the town of Duskendale to draw from; they can raise thousands of men. Unfortunately, the Rykkers owe House Targaryen for giving them Duskendale after the Defiance; and Father sent Lord Renford’s cousin to the Wall during the Sack. We’d have to pay an exorbitant price to win their support.”

 

Tyrion clicked his tongue lightly in annoyance. “I doubt we want to marry off Joffrey to Rykker’s daughter, so we’ll have to do without his help. Our best bet would be the lords whose lands are closest to King’s Landing; Rosby, Stokeworth and Hayford. Together they can raise close to three thousand men. That’s hundreds of knights, a force that could make a real difference.” Rosby and Stokeworth should be easy enough; traditionally they’re the closest allies to King’s Landing, and it should simply be a matter of wining and dining Lord Rosby and Lady Stokeworth.”

 

He frowned for a moment. “Hayford, however, will be harder. Lady Ermesande is the last of her House, and while I would normally just send you out to win her support, that would be impossible in this case; as Lady Ermesande is a babe not yet old enough to speak.”

 

Cersei smiled at that, at last a problem she had the solution to. “We have plenty of cousins, brother, and if Lady Hayford were to wed, her husband could command her forces in her stead.”

 

Impressed at his sister’s quick thinking, Tyrion tilted his head. “That could work. Well done, dear sister.”

 

Cersei smiled at the praise, before frowning as a thought suddenly struck her. “What about Chelsted and Wendwater? Of all the lords Varys mentioned you forgot about them.”

 

Apprehensively, Cersei watched as Tyrion and Varys exchanged looks, before her brother sighed.

 

“I didn’t forget, Cersei, I just didn’t want to have to tell you this.”

 

“Tell me what?” Cersei demanded, hands on her hips. “Can they not be trusted?”

 

“Again, yes and no.” Tyrion glanced down at the surface of the table. “Wendwater and Chelsted may be sworn to King’s Landing, but their lands border the Stormlands.  Both Houses naturally have ties to Storm’s End as well as King’s Landing; not to mention that Massey’s Hook, which falls under Stannis’ purview, borders Wendwater to the east. Caught between Joffrey, Stannis and Renly, most likely they’ll choose to remain neutral in this three-way clash of stags.” Tyrion rubbed the back of his neck absently. “Though in practice; I suspect their loyalty will belong to whoever has the strongest army on their lands at any one time. If Stannis decides to come by land rather than sea; I’d put good money on them raising their banners for him as soon as he arrives.”

 

“What?” Cersei’s eyes hardened at the thought of yet more people betraying her son. “Why would we allow this?”

 

Chuckling, Tyrion shook his head slowly, a smile playing on his lips. “What would you have us do, Cersei? Lead the gold cloaks out and destroy them because they might side with Stannis? All that would do is make them our firm enemies, and it won’t be just them. Once our bannermen hear of us attacking our own lords, they won’t stand for it. No, its best to leave those two be.”

 

Doggedly, Cersei pressed on, unwilling to give up on the idea of winning allies to their side. “What if we look outside the Crownlands then? If we reach out to the other Great Houses…”

 

“Who?” Tyrion’s previous good mood was gone as he grew frustrated with his sister once more. “House Stark? We killed Lord Eddard’s household and took him prisoner; the only thing Robb Stark wants from us is his father and sisters back. House Tully? Father’s been burning their lands and Gregor Clegane wiped out the Darrys; if you really think they’ll pull back their men from attacking Father to come and help us; then you’ve truly lost your mind. House Baratheon?” his laugh had absolutely no humour in it. “A bit pointless to ask Renly or Stannis for help when they’re the ones attacking us. 

 

House Tyrell? Oh don’t get me wrong; even half the power of Highgarden could turn the war in our favour, but it won’t happen. Mace Tyrell didn’t wed his daughter to Renly so his grandson could rule the Stormlands and the Reach; he wants Tyrell blood on the Iron Throne, and he wants House Tyrell to be the true rulers of the Seven Kingdoms. He won’t get that with us; even if Joffrey did marry Margaery Tyrell; Father and House Lannister will always control the kingdoms. Not to mention that Robert’s idiocy hurts us again; he was adamant about punishing the Tyrells for supporting Aerys, whereas Renly has always been close with Highgarden. I wouldn’t put a single coin on us winning the Tyrells loyalty away from him.”

 

Tyrion drew a deep breath, winded from all this talking and drank the last of his wine. Reaching for the jug to refill his glass, he poured himself a fresh cup before continuing. “Father has his hands full with the Tullys and now the Starks; House Lannister cannot help us.” He sipped his wine again, savouring the rich Dornish red. “As for the neutral Houses; asking the Ironborn for help would be a terrible idea. That would be akin to waving a flag at them with the word weakness written all over it.” He smiled briefly at his own joke before his face turned serious once more. 

 

“Lysa Arryn won’t fight her family, and even if she wanted to, the lords of the Vale fondly remember the time Ned Stark stayed with them.  If she calls on them to attack the North or the Riverlands; they may turn on her. Neutrality in the Vale is the best we can hope for.”

 

“House Martell?” Tyrion’s bark of laughter had absolutely no humour in it. “Prince Doran despises us for what the Mountain did to Princess Elia and the Targaryen children; and yet ironically, may be our best hope. The blood feud between Casterly Rock and Sunspear only stretches back a generation, while the Martells have been warring with the Tyrells and Baratheons for thousands of years.” Tyrion steepled his fingers together, thinking deeply now. “Renly has taken it for granted that Sunspear will join him; and yet, for the right price, Prince Doran may be more willing to join us to fight against his ancient enemy.”

 

“Price?” Cersei echoed in disbelief. “What could we possibly give him that would make up for the death of his sister and her children?”

 

Something flashed in Tyrion’s eyes that made Cersei uneasy, and the tone of his voice did nothing to reassure her. “We shall have to see.”

 

Before she could press him about it, he had already moved past it and onto the next problem. “For the moment, however, we must proceed under the assumption that we cannot convince the other Kingdoms to help us. We must fight with the forces and resources we have.” The Imp glanced down at his parchment. “And what we have is the city walls, a small fleet, six thousand gold cloaks, a hundred or so Lannister guards and a slightly ludicrous amount of wildfire.”

 

“Wildfire?” Pycelle yelped, the old man jerking upright as if impaled. All trace of his previous frailty was gone, and the pure naked fear in his eyes suddenly reminded Tyrion that the Grand Maester had served under Aerys for some time. He knew all too well the power and destructive potential of wildfire. “Lord Tyrion, I beg you to reconsider. Wildfire is too dangerous to use; a single mistake could have disastrous consequences.”

 

Tyrion answered Pycelle’s fearful look with a reassuring smirk. “I promise you, Pycelle, that the wildfire will be carefully deployed by trained men. I have no desire to burn alive any more than you do.”  Without waiting to see if his words had had the desired effect, Tyrion turned his gaze towards Bronn, still standing by the door, now absently filing his nails with his dagger. “Bronn.”

 

To his credit, the man didn’t jump, but slid his dagger back into its sheath and glanced up at Tyrion. “M’lord?”

 

“Starting tomorrow, I want the gold cloaks training four hours a day. It doesn’t matter if some of them can’t handle it; it’s best to find out now rather than during battle. I’d rather have two thousand we can count on than six thousand we can’t trust not to run.”

 

Tyrion received a curt nod in reply, before he sighed and glanced down at his parchment again. “Good.” He made a mark, before looking up again. “Any useful ideas, Bronn, would be welcome.”

 

“Me?” the sellsword took a step back in surprise. “I’m no noble, I don’t know anything about battle command or war.”

 

“Then don’t think about it like that.” Tyrion put down his quill and stared his retainer in the eyes. “You’ve been hired to fight in a war. The other side has more men. Aside from turning your cloak, what else can you do to reduce the odds?”

 

Now thinking of the problem in terms he understood, Bronn folded his arms for a moment and closed his eyes. “Well, you’ve already tried gettin’ more people on your side, so that’s out.” He hummed for a moment, before his eyes abruptly opened. “It’s simple. If you can’t get more on your side, find a way to make some of their side go away.”

 

“We just discussed that” Cersei snapped, glaring at her brother’s pet sellsword. “Stannis and Renly want the throne, and won’t settle for less. Fool.”

 

“Mayhaps not” she turned to see her brother stroking his chin in thought. “Bronn might be onto something. “True, Renly and Stannis won’t back down, but if we could come to terms with the Starks and Tullys, Father would be free to bring his army here and support the capital.”

 

“Come to terms with them?” Cersei could barely believe what she had heard. “What do you intend to do, give Stark back his father and sister? Lord Eddard is a confessed traitor, Joffrey won’t allow it. Not to mention we only have two Starks, and he’ll want three back. As for the Tullys” Cersei shook her head in disbelief, “Father attacked the Riverlands and killed their people, and now they have the advantage over him. Why should they give up their chance for vengeance?”

 

“Truthfully, sister?” Tyrion sighed deeply, his shoulders drooping. “I don’t know. It all depends on how badly the lords of the Trident want Father’s head. By now he’ll have escaped into the Westerlands, so they’ll have to take the Golden Tooth if they want to follow him. You and I both know the Tooth’s a strong castle; it won’t fall quickly, or bloodlessly.” Brother and sister shared a brief smile at that, before Tyrion’s smile faded, to be replaced by a look of careful contemplation. “Father’s no fool either, he knows the pass is his best defence. He’ll leave a large force to hold it, enough to cost the Tullys thousands of men at the very least.

 

If the Tullys recognise that fact, then it all comes down to whether or not they’re willing to pay that price. If they take the pass, then they can burn the Westerlands as they want, but at a grievous cost. If they aren’t willing to cause such a bloodbath, however, then we may be able to have peace; provided that we’re willing to make reparations for Father’s actions in the Riverlands.”

 

“Reparations?” Cersei asked scornfully. “What sort of apology do you think they’d accept?”

 

“Gold.” Tyrion’s matter of fact answer had Cersei taken aback, and she fell silent. “We are Lannisters, dear sister, and if it gets us peace with Riverrun, then we’ll spend as much as we need to get ourselves out of this mess.”

 

“And the Starks?” Cersei demanded after a moment. “I doubt Robb Stark will take gold instead of his father?”

 

“The Starks…” Tyrion sighed. “Like it or not, we may have to return Lord Eddard and his daughters if it means freeing up Father’s army, but that obviously has a few problems. Robb Stark has no reason to trust us, meaning we’ll need a gesture of good faith if we want to bring him to the table.” He steepled his fingers together in thought for a moment. “Returning either his father or one of his sisters would work. Now obviously we can’t send our best hostage back at the start, so Lord Eddard is out. Sansa is betrothed to Joffrey; it’s unlikely that he’ll let her go at all, there’s no chance of it happening before a final agreement is reached.”

 

He sighed deeply. “If only we still had Stark’s younger daughter; Arya would be perfect for this.” Tyrion glanced at Cersei. “Are you sure she’s not in the city somewhere?”

 

“I scoured the city thoroughly, my lord Hand” Varys piped up from across the table. “The Lady Arya was nowhere to be found.”

 

“How can a girl not yet twelve namedays old evade us” Tyrion sighed in exasperation. Clasping his hands together, he leaned across the table, glaring at Cersei. “Tell me everything that happened when she disappeared. Start with where she was last seen.”

 

With a long-suffering sigh, Cersei once again began recounting the events that she and Varys had gone over multiple times while trying to find the younger Stark daughter. “After Lord Stark committed his act of treason; I sent men to take his daughters in hand. Sansa was easy enough, and we knew that Arya was at her dancing lesson, so I sent Ser Meryn and five red cloaks.”

 

“And?” Tyrion pressed eagerly.

 

“And her dancing master killed or maimed all five of them with nothing but a practice sword” Cersei spat. “Apparently the girl was learning sword fighting, not dancing. For some reason Lord Stark hired a former First Sword of Braavos to teach her, Syrio Forel the man was called, and he effortlessly took apart the guards. The foolish man wasn’t wearing any armor, though, and Ser Meryn dealt with him easily enough.”

 

“An armoured Kingsguard against a foreigner with a wooden sword, yes, how challenging” Tyrion responded dryly. “And the girl?”

 

“Wood with iron inside for weight, according to Ser Meryn. As for Arya, she ran while he was dealing with Forel.” Cersei clenched her fist. “We found a boy in the stables, killed by what looks like a thin blade, so she was apparently armed. She escaped into the city and no-one’s seen hide nor hair of her since. I’ve locked down the gates though, and had every ship, cart and carriage leaving the city searched.  If Arya Stark is still alive, then she’s somewhere in King’s Landing, we just can’t seem to find her.”

 

“So I see.” Tyrion’s voice was distant, his thoughts somewhere else, before he glanced at Cersei. “What was your impression of Lady Arya? Tell me about her.”

 

“Lady may be putting it strongly” Cersei sniffed. “The little animal set her direwolf on Joffrey for hurting a butcher’s boy she was playing with. Always running around, muddy and disgusting, from what Sansa tells me, more at home with the blacksmiths and the stableboys than other highborn girls her age. Why does it matter?”

 

“It matters, dear sister” Tyrion countered, “because I believe I may be able to help.” He turned to Varys again. “When you sent your little birds to look for Arya Stark” he asked, “what description did you give them?”

 

Varys shrugged. “A young girl, around twelve or thirteen namedays, grey eyes, black hair, highbor… oh”. He pursed his lips. “How could I make such a foolish mistake?”

 

“What mistake?” Cersei asked urgently. ‘What are you two talking about?”

 

Varys’ eyes flicked to Tyrion, who spread his hands as if inviting Varys to explain it, so with a sigh, the plump man admitted his mistake. “My little birds have been looking for a typical highborn girl, who wouldn’t survive a day on the streets without being noticed. From what you say, however, Your Grace, Arya Stark is not a typical highborn girl. She knows how to survive on her own. If you would excuse me, Your Grace, Lord Tyrion.” He rose from his chair and, moving quickly for such a large man, left the room, his perfume leaving a pleasant scent behind him.

 

With nothing else important to discuss, the Small Council meeting broke up, and Tyrion departed for his chambers, and Shae, but late that evening, a boy brought him a note from Varys, requesting him to come to the Small Council chamber immediately. Upon arriving with Bronn in tow, he noticed Cersei already seated, and soon Varys burst through the doors, a triumphant smile on his face. “My lords. We have her.”

 

“You found Arya Stark?” Cersei could scarcely believe her ears. 

 

“No” Varys admitted, “but I do know where to look. For the past weeks my little birds have been telling me of an orphan boy living in Flea Bottom, killing pigeons with one blow of a stick. The feat amazes them, as no-one has yet to copy it. No matter how hard the strike, pigeons are too fast and too tough to be killed by a mere wooden stick.” He giggled briefly. “But Your Grace gave me the last piece of the puzzle earlier. Wood may not do the job, but wood weighted with iron could certainly break a pigeon’s neck.”

 

“You think...?” Cersei barely dared to hope.

 

“I believe that Lady Arya has quite cleverly cut her hair short and removed the guard from her practice sword. With short hair, and just a “stick”, she would be just another orphan boy in Flea Bottom.” Varys frowned deeply. “I have also recently been told, that said orphan boy carries a castle-forged blade with him; a thin weapon suitable for thrusting. Such a weapon matches the wound found on the stableboy, though why it took so long for my little birds to find this out, I know not.” His expression said that his spies had better have a good answer for this slip up, the plump man’s face was black as thunder.

 

The next moment, however, his smile was back and he spread his arms wide. “But that is my concern to deal with. The important thing, Your Grace, Lord Tyrion, is that we have found her. I have already dispatched the gold cloaks, Arya Stark should be ours within the hour. They have orders to take her, but peacefully. Trying to disarm her does no good if she panics and stabs one of them in the throat, so as long as she comes quietly she will permitted to keep it.”

 

Glancing at each other, Cersei and Tyrion could feel the energy in the air and soon the doors opened, revealing a young girl, hair short and ragged; as if cut off with the edge of a knife. She walked between two gold cloaks, who warily stood out of her reach, but kept her within the range of their spears. From the right side of her belt hung a long, thin sword, more of a spike than a blade, while a dagger sat at her left hip. Glancing at the weapons; Tyrion could see that the sword was in a proper scabbard, something that looked well made, while the dagger was of a common design, something she must have stolen at some point. 

 

The girl herself was thin, as if she had not eaten properly in moons; and given that she had eaten nothing but pigeon in that time if Varys was telling the truth; then she probably hadn’t. While her body looked exhausted, her spirit remained defiant; her eyes darting around the room as if looking for an exit, left hand brushing the pommel of her thin sword at times. One of the gold cloaks fingered his spear, and Tyrion decided to take a hand before blood was shed. And judging from the stains on her clothes, it wouldn’t necessarily be her blood.

 

“Arya Stark” he called out, and though she tried to hide it, Tyrion could see her jump slightly. There was still one more test required, though, and striding forwards, Tyrion was grateful she was of a similar height to him as he stared into her eyes. Lord Eddard had grey eyes, like the smoky steel of his Valyrian greatsword, and staring into that same grey here, he knew Varys had at last found the missing girl. “Take a seat, Lady Arya”, he said, pulling out a chair.

 

At first Arya looked as if she wanted to do anything but sit, but when the gold cloaks, at Bronn’s gesture, moved subtly back to block the door, the girl sighed and sat down.

 

“What do you want with me?” she asked, her tone a mixture of resignation and defiance.

 

Tyrion flicked a glance sideways at Cersei, seeking her permission, which he swiftly got in the form of a subtle flick of her head, before he smiled warmly. “To send you back to your family, Lady Arya.”

 

“So I’m a hostage then” she snarled, already reaching for her dagger.

 

“No, no” Tyrion chuckled nervously, hands held up to show that he meant no harm. “We want peace. Your brother won’t come to the table unless we show him we’re serious, so we need a gesture of good faith. That’s where you come in.”

 

“You’re sending me home?” Despite the tone of disbelief, a hint of hope shone through, and the cornered wolf at last turned into a young girl who had been on her own for far too long. Tyrion was sorry he had to disappoint her.

 

“No, not home.” Her face fell, and he felt horrible, so he quickly continued. “That’s not to say that you won’t go home eventually, but it would take too long to return you to Winterfell, and we want to make peace sooner rather than later. Your mother and brother are closer, so we’ll be sending you to them.

 

Tell me Lady Arya” he asked, still smiling, “have you ever been to Riverrun?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I apologise for the delay. I got sick just as my beta finished his exams, and couldn't write for days. Now I have good and bad news for people. The good news is, as I said before, both me and my beta are free for months, so chapters will flow much faster for a while.
> 
> Now comes the bad news. I said for a while for a reason. When I started writing this story over two years ago, I got to nearly thirty chapters before my beta agreed to look at them. Given that they nearly all needed massive changes, I stopped writing new ones and began editing one at a time as he previewed them.
> 
> The problem is that I find myself unable to work on two different parts of the story arc at once; I can't properly immerse myself in the flow of the story. What this means for you, is that once I run through the last of me prewritten chapters, updates will vastly slow down from what I've been putting out. Things will depend entirely on whether I feel up to writing on a particular day, so you may get three chapters in a week or none for a fortnight if I don't feel well. 
> 
> Keep checking those notifications, and I do try my best to get these out for you. The next chapter only needs a few changes, so it should be out by tomorrow, but again, we'll see.


	31. Five Kings

Riverrun’s great hall was filled with the sounds of people talking. As Alyssa entered, her eyes almost popped out of her head when she saw the sheer number of Lords and nobles present. The high bench was of insufficient length for all the highborn to sit, so a second table almost identical to the first had been brought in. On the great bench of the Tullys, Alyssa was surprised to see Edmure holding court, sunken deep into the great chair of their father, looking pale but conscious, and speaking to Brynden, seated to his right, although being quieter than he normally would. The chair to Edmure’s left was empty, and to the left of that was Ryman Frey, looking rather put out at the fact that he was not seated next to Edmure. To Brynden’s right was Jonos Bracken, blood stained bandages wrapped around his chest.

Near the ends of the table was Lord Clement Piper, Alyssa’s second during the Battle of Riverhold, and Karyl Vance, newly made Lord of Wayfarer’s Rest after his father’s death during the same engagement. Ser Damon Vypren, resentful that House Vypren had had no chance to gain glory, relegated to guarding the baggage train and prisoners. That was all that was left of the great lords of the Trident, the many gaps at the table telling of the toll the war had taken.

Lord Roote was missing, the young lord remaining at Lord Harroway’s Town. The Lords Blackwood, Goodbrook and Ryger were Lannister prisoners alongside Ser Halmon Paege, taken during the disastrous battle on the bank of the Red Fork. Castles Darry and Lychester had been sacked by the Mountain, killing their lords and ending those lines when all present were put to the sword. Lord Jason Mallister’s fate was uncertain, Maester Vyman unable to say whether he would survive his vicious beating at the Mountain’s hands. Lord Norbert Vance, an old, blind man, understandably remained at Atranta, his heir, Ser Ronald, had been slain leading the outriders at the Battle of the Woods.

Lord William Mooton also remained at Maidenpool, but unlike Vance, who had the excuse of his age and blindness,  Mooton was a coward who not only did not leave Maidenpool, but did not send House Tully a single soldier since the beginning of the war. Alyssa resolved to bring him to heel or to deal with him harshly; her father allowing House Frey to disobey him during Robert’s Rebellion had weakened his hold over House Tully’s vassals. She would not make that mistake. Edmure had named her acting Lady Paramount and she would take full advantage of that position; Mooton would serve House Tully or hang for his treason.

Lady Shella Whent, too, had stayed at her seat, but unlike Mooton, Alyssa had no problem with that; Lady Shella had obeyed Riverrun’s call and sent all her armsmen to join Edmure’s host. Barring the five hundred men needed to hold a castle as ludicrously large as Harrenhal, a skeleton garrison even then, she had no more strength and certainly no forces to spare. As for the last absent Lord, Lord Vypren remained at Stone Hedge with two thousand men, maintaining the decoy siege simply because Alyssa had not yet ordered him to cease.

_ With the North on our side, we can take back Stone Hedge soon and end his long wait. _

On the other table, Robb Stark sat in the seat of honor, surrounded by Northerners. Catelyn and Grey Wind occupied the seats to his left and right, with the ever emotionless Roose Bolton, and Jon Umber, called the Greatjon for his size, next along. Then there was Rickard Karstark and two men of similar ages so fat they must be Manderlys of White Harbour. 

The other Northern lords Alyssa did not know by name, although she was delighted to see a fellow woman, dressed in mail and with a spiked mace at her belt, who could only be Maege Mormont, the She-Bear of Bear Island. Her daughters flanked her, all also armed and armoured. 

Ser Robin quietly pointed Alyssa to the empty seat, and she strode across the hall and lowered herself into her chair, looking around. The Greatjon shot from his place, and Alyssa found herself unconsciously moving her hand closer to her sword in case this got violent. “Finally! Now we can get things started, though I don’t know why we’re waiting for a bastard anyway? What place do you have on this council?”

Edmure’s face went cold and all along the table, the Riverlords roared in protest, something that brought a warm feeling to Alyssa’s heart for a moment, before she dismissed it, knowing that her usual reaction of drawing sword on those who insulted her would be a very bad idea. Choosing to fight with a bright smile instead of gleaming steel, she bowed apologetically to her brother and the assembled lords. “Forgive me, my lords” she said as she glanced at her brother. “What have I missed?”

Edmure sighed. “Remnants of Tywin’s army have scattered around Riverrun. Rooting them out will take months. Renly Baratheon has wed Margaery Tyrell, and declared himself King with the support of the Reach and the Stormlands.”

Alyssa frowned, and attempted to remember all she knew about House Baratheon, which was not much. “Renly? Isn’t he Stannis’ younger brother? By what authority does he claim the crown?”

From Edmure’s other side, Brynden snorted. “The authority of the hundred thousand swords he commands. He may not be the rightful king by blood, but he means to make his claim by steel, not birth.”

Marq Piper then spoke up. “He may not be the rightful heir, but he is the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands and through his marriage, he also commands the might of the Reach. The Dornish will not be slow to join him; Doran Martell would relish the chance to avenge his sister. All the might of the South is at Renly’s command. If we join with him, he will have five of the Seven Kingdoms with him, six if the Arryns join us. Six Kingdoms against what scraps the West has left, by year’s end my lords, we shall have the head of every Lannister and their bannermen on pikes! What does Stannis have to match that, that we should forsake Renly for him?”

“The right.” The hall went silent, and Alyssa turned her head to look at her nephew, who had risen from his chair and was now standing there, face set, reminding Alyssa of how his father had looked at Pyke, the only thing missing was Ice, currently in Lannister hands. “Renly is not the king. Joffrey may have imprisoned my father falsely for treason, but that does not stop him being the rightful king. And even if he was not, Lord Stannis is the elder brother, and the next in line. Just as Bran cannot be Lord of Winterfell before me, Renly cannot be king before Stannis.”

“Do you mean to declare us for Stannis?” The shout came from Rickard Karstark, eager to rescue his lord and friend.

Robb shook his head. “I do not know. Stannis has the right, but no support. If we joined him and lost, we’d be traitors to Joffrey and to Renly, and our heads would be on pikes no matter who won.  Renly has the might of the Reach and Stormlands, but not the right. Stannis Baratheon is a hard man, my father told me, if we go against him and lose, and he will see us killed for traitors. And while I have no love for Joffrey, and indeed would gladly see him dead, Tommen and Myrcella are innocent of any crimes. Worse, Joffrey has my father and my sisters, should we fail to support the lion against the stag, he may very well decide to send us their heads.”

Forgetting herself for a moment, Alyssa laughed. She instantly realised it was the wrong thing to do when every head in the hall swivelled over to her, many glaring at her, none more fiercely than her sister and nephew. Alyssa could almost feel the daggers shooting from Robb’s eyes at her, which she was at least grateful, were not real. “I’m sorry aunt, was there something funny about the likely death of my father, your goodbrother, and my sisters, your nieces? I thought you cared about family.”

Alyssa’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve been fighting the Lannisters for my family, boy, don’t you dare claim I don’t care about them, or you’ll see just how I stood up to the Kingslayer. I laughed because what you worry about is ludicrous and never going to happen. Cersei Lannister has your father and sisters. We have her brother, many cousins as well as countless Western lords and bannermen, if she even scratches a Stark, we can drown her in Lannister heads and still have plenty of prisoners left, she won’t risk it.”

Robb stared at her. “Don’t call me boy, aunt. With my father imprisoned, you are talking to the Lord of Winterfell, and you will show me the respect that title deserves.” Grey Wind growled, and lowered himself, preparing to spring. Robb reached for his sword. Alyssa rested her hands on the pommels of her blades.

“Enough!” Catelyn’s voice cut through the noise, and both whirled to see the Lady of Winterfell, hands on her hips, hair almost appearing to take fire in her rage.

“Robb, what are you doing? I know Ned taught you better than that, respect must be earned. And you, Alyssa? Is this how you bring pride to our family name? By drawing steel on your own blood? Think before you act, both of you.”

Chastened by her shouts, Robb and Alyssa sunk back into their seats, faces flaming in shame as their hands fell away from their weapons. Grey Wind, sensing his master’s mood, whimpered and lowered himself back to the ground. Seizing the moment, Catelyn took the first opportunity to speak she had had since the council began; an opportunity she would need as she knew what she was about to say would not be popular.

“Why not a peace? We marched south, my lords, to free the Riverlands and save my lord husband. Well the Riverlands have freed themselves, and they have many prisoners because of it. There is no need for further death, let us trade Lannister for Stark and go home rather than bathe the Riverlands in any more blood. I would weep not for dead Lannisters, but the blood of a thousand of them is not worth a single drop of blood of Northmen or Riverlanders shed in return. ”

No one spoke for a moment, before Alyssa drew her sword with a growl in one motion. “My lady, they burned our lands, killed our people, and imprisoned my goodbrother, your lord husband.” With one arc, she inverted Bloodclaw and drove the Valyrian blade into the floor, the point driving into the stone and leaving the sword standing upright even as Alyssa stepped away. “There, my lords, is the only peace I will have with Lannisters.”

Jonos Bracken stood then, face swelled with grief. “The Lannisters laid waste to my fields, smashed my forces and took my seat from me. Why have I called my banners, fought beside your brother, fought beside your sister, if I am simply to send my men home, not that we can go home with Stone Hedge in Lannister hands?”

Clement Piper then got to his feet. “It is not as if the Riverlands have come through this unscathed, my lady. House Darry is no more; a great line that has helped guard the Trident since before the Conquest, undone at the blades of a few hundred upjumped armsmen. Lord Lyman Darry was a boy of eight and they put him to the sword. 

Catelyn’s face fell, having been unaware of that fact, and Alyssa took up the argument. “Besides which, sister, it’s not as if we’ve crushed the Lannisters so thoroughly that they’re no threat to us. We destroyed a large portion of their army, true, but they still have around twenty thousand men left to call on in the Westerlands, and we took casualties as well. Between the losses in the recent battles, we have not even twenty thousand men left.

That’s if we call up everyone who can hold a spear, green boys and greybeards. Frankly, we are at the limit of the forces we can muster; we don’t have the strength to attack the Westerlands. However, now that the North has joined us, we can march into the heart of Lannister power, and crush the Lions in their home.”

This was met with cheers, and Catelyn could see her chance to get Ned and the girls back dwindling rapidly into the distance, but she pressed on regardless.

“And what price have we paid? I know how many men the Riverlands can call up, that we have less than twenty thousand left means that over twenty-five thousand died for this war. How many more children must become orphans? How many more women must weep for husbands who will never come home? The Riverlands has suffered just as much as the Lannisters have, and making the Westerlands burn in return won’t feed the smallfolk or bring the dead back. Let us go home, and write an end to this. I want to go back home, my lords, and get back my daughters and my husband.”

The hall seemed to consider her words for a second, before to Catelyn’s horror, it was her own uncle who destroyed her hopes. “Peace is sweet, Cat, but there is no point hammering your sword into a plow blade when you must forge it into a sword again tomorrow.”

Clement Piper stood, his face set. “No matter what you may decide for yourselves, or even what Lord Hoster or Ser Edmure may order, I will never call a Lannister my king.”

The hall exploded into noise again, and Catelyn felt her face fall. 

_ So close. I was so close to getting Ned and the girls back, but now…the Riverlords have tasted blood and the Lords of the North sense a chance for the glory they missed out on, neither will ever have a peace while Lannisters live. _

As she desperately thought of a way to turn things around, the Greatjon got to his feet.

“My lords. MY LORDS! Here’s what I say to these two kings.” He spat on the ground at his feet. “Renly Baratheon is nothing to me, nor Stannis neither. What do they know of the Wall or the wolfswood or the barrows of the First Men? No offence to you Riverfolk, but even their gods are wrong.” Alyssa snarled under her breath at that insult to the Seven, and she was not alone, many lords of the Trident were touching the pommels of their blades as the Greatjon continued regardless.  The Others take the Lannisters too, I've had a bellyful of them, and their day is done." 

He reached back over his shoulder and drew his immense two-handed greatsword. "Why shouldn't we rule ourselves again? It was the dragons we married, and the dragons are all dead!" He pointed at Robb with the blade. "With Ned a prisoner, there sits the only king I mean to bow my knee to, m'lords," he thundered. "The King in the North!" He knelt, and laid his sword at her son’s feet.

"I'll have peace on those terms," Lord Karstark said. "They can keep their red castle and their iron chair as well." He eased his longsword from its scabbard. "The King in the North!" he said, kneeling beside the Greatjon.

Maege Mormont stood. "The King of Winter!" she declared, and laid her spiked mace beside the swords. Then, as Alyssa looked around the hall, looked at her nephew who seemed as shocked by the actions of his bannermen as she was, her gaze passed over the other Riverlords near her, who, caught up in the moment, began to rise. As if shot from a bow, Alyssa sprang to her feet, and time seemed to slow to a crawl as her mind began to travel down the possible outcomes of tonight as if the Crone had temporarily lent her wisdom and foresight.

Renly was the best choice, but with the march on the Westerlands imminent, the Rivermen wouldn’t want to sack them in his name. Not to mention the spoils they’d have to hand over. Clearly, a placeholder was needed, if only for a year or so. The Northmen had just declared a boy of fifteen name days their King, so why shouldn’t the Riverlands have a bastard born Queen? The spark of ambition in Alyssa Tully, so long buried, began to flicker.

_ These lords have fought with me, trust me, and I’m a hero at the moment. I could pull it off. I could declare myself Queen of the Riverlands, no matter my efforts to raise his standing in the eyes of the lords, Edmure is disgraced after his defeat at the hands of Lord Tywin. Whereas I just won battles with Piper and Vance besides me, they should side with me. If I married one of Walder Frey’s sons, that would make his grandson a King, and gain me his swords. Lord Mallister fought with me, and countless other lords too, they will see the sense and offer me their fealty. _

Visions filled Alyssa’s head of sigil after sigil, all the blazons of the lords of the Riverlands, including the trout of Tully, banners flapping in the wind with the dolphin of Riverhold flying above them all, Alyssa sitting regally in the high seat of Riverrun, a silver band on her head, lords of the Trident paying her court. She allowed herself to bask in the dream for only a breath before her brain caught up with her and reality kicked in, reminding her that it was just that, only a dream.

_ What am I thinking? Of course it won’t be that simple. Lord Mallister sided with me, true, because I am Hoster’s daughter and Edmure’s sister, as soon as I declare myself Queen he’ll raise his banners to oppose me when he recovers.  While I could buy Lord Walder’s allegiance, Lord Jason is enough of a threat that Seagard and the Twins would keep each other in check. Lord Bracken is Father’s bannerman, and I haven’t freed Stone Hedge yet, but Edmure led the battle that led to his forces being destroyed. I don’t know who he’ll side with. That still leaves a stalemate. _

_ Lord Piper and Lord Vance? While they fought with me, will they side with me? I don’t know, same as the other lords. No, I don’t have the support to declare myself Queen, what I do have is just enough support to start an ugly civil war in the Riverlands over this, dividing the lords of the Trident, and while they squabble, the Lannisters will catch their breath, come back with fresh troops and crush us piecemeal. All I will have accomplished is betraying the oath I swore to Father, and the very reason he acknowledged me is to avoid a situation exactly like this should Riverrun be taken. _

At that, the world seemed to begin moving again, and Alyssa raised her voice, in a shout that rang from Riverrun’s rafters. “Lords of the Trident, hear me!” Bracken and Piper, still half rising from their seats, turned their necks, the remainder of the Riverlords looked at her and Alyssa seized her opening.

“Eddard Stark is a good and honourable man, my sister a loyal and dutiful woman, and they have raised my nephew well. But no matter how good or bad the Stark may be, no Stark of Winterfell has ever ruled South of the Neck. It was the Fishers who ruled as Kings of the Rivers, and after them nearly every House in the Riverlands were kings for a time, until House Mudd, the last of the River Kings, lost his title and his life to the Storm Kings. The Storm Kings were eventually overcome by the Ironborn, who raped our lands and enslaved our people.”

Before Alyssa could continue, a shout came from Jonos Bracken “This is ancient history known by every man and woman here, Lady Alyssa, why treat us like children by bringing it up now?”

Alyssa nodded to Lord Bracken. “You have a point, Lord Jonos, so I will get to mine then. It was the Targaryens who drove the Ironborn back to those shit-stained rocks they call home, and we gave them three hundred years of loyal service in return. But all things change and thanks to the folly of the Mad King and Rhaegar, House Targaryen is no more. It was Edmyn Tully who led the Riverlords in support of Aegon, and who was later named Hand for it, and it was House Tully that the Targaryens chose to rule the Riverlands in their name. 

Renly Baratheon follows the Seven, and with the power of Highgarden and Storm’s End behind him, has a real chance to win the crown.

But if we name him our king now, my lords” Alyssa called, spreading her arms out to encompass all the Riverlords present, “then when we attack the Westerlands, we must do so in King Renly’s name. All the spoils of war; the hostages, the gold, the lands and the castles we take, belong to King Renly, and not to us.”

Alyssa could see grumbling at that point, and she smiled as she addressed the lords as one of their own. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t fancy fighting and dying so my men and I can hand everything we’ve taken over to someone who won’t have even set foot in the West.”

This produced more signs of agreement, and Alyssa pressed home her argument. “It’s true, with the backing of the Tyrells, Renly Baratheon will almost certainly take the South eventually, but at least for now, let us crown our own king, loot the West as we see fit, and after we have taken all that we want; hand the Westerlands over to King Renly as a token of our fealty.

Now that, as Lord Umber says, the dragons are dead, there is the closest thing we Riverlanders have to a royal House and with my lord father incapable of command there “ she said, pointing at Edmure sitting in his great chair  is the only King I mean to bend my knee to. “The King of the Trident!”

She dropped to one knee, hands resting on the guard of Bloodclaw, still embedded in the stone, looking up at Edmure. For a moment, no-one spoke. Just as Alyssa was beginning to fear that her bold move had failed, that she’d made a fool of herself, she heard the sound of a chair being pushed back, and she turned her head to see Ser Ryman standing.

_ Of course, House Frey was marrying Roslin to the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, and instead his sister will be Queen of the Trident, if even for a year. House Frey’s support is guaranteed. _

Ser Ryman cleared his throat. “When Ser Edmure promised to wed my sister, I said that House Frey was turning a new leaf, that our time of feigned obedience was over. I can see no better way to prove it now, and to truly begin again, than this. House Frey failed in our duties to the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands. We here and now, swear our loyalty without bounds, until his Grace sees fit to relinquish his crown, to the King of the Trident!” Drawing his sword, he copied Alyssa, dropping to one knee, albeit with more difficulty being nearly sixty name days, hands on the hilt. 

Alyssa’s eyebrow rose at the eloquent words from the usually foolish Ryman, before another chair scraped back, and Jonos Bracken leapt to his feet. “Aye, let’s smash those Lions and form our own Kingdom. I’m sick of bowing to the Lannisters, and their boy king.” His broadsword slammed into the floor, and he bent his knee, hands resting on the hilt. “The King of the Trident”.

Murmurs broke out through the hall, and Alyssa was forced to keep herself from reminding Lord Jonos that this Kingdom was only temporary before yet another chair scraped on stone, and upon seeing Lord Clement Piper rise from his chair, Alyssa’s heart leapt into her throat.

_ This is it. This is the moment right here, when my move will succeed or fail. Ser Stevron is a Frey, and heroes of recent or not, dislike of Freys is too ingrained in the Lords of the Trident to be shaken off by a few days deeds. For my part, legitimised hero of the Riverlands or not, in the eyes of many, while I may be good on a battlefield, I’m either a bastard or a minor lord and my opinion counts for nothing in politics. And Lord Bracken just wants vengeance against the Lannisters for taking Stone Hedge. Lord Piper, however, is the second most powerful lord in the Riverlands present and the most loyal lord to House Tully here. Not to mention, the most respected among the lords after his part in capturing the Kingslayer. His word will sway Vance and Vypren and decide this, one way or another. _

As Alyssa watched, holding her breath in anxiety, Lord Clement stroked his chin for a moment, before he spoke, the entire hall silent as they waited for his words.

“Ser Stevron is a good man, and House Frey is a powerful House, their support will surely aid Ser Edmure in setting up his kingdom. And Lady Alyssa is a loyal woman who has fought hard for the Riverlands, and has truly repaid our trust in her, her opinion should be respected. But they are not our King. House Frey may give men and support, but it is not a Frey who will be King. Lady Alyssa may be a fine battlefield commander and strategist, but it is not her who will be our King. It is Ser Edmure who will be King if we agree to this, and Ser Edmure has not exactly distinguished himself of late, his army smashed by the Lannisters, Riverrun itself placed under siege, needing his sister to save him and even then nearly getting himself killed trying to join the battle when they did. He has hardly shown the skill, strength or wisdom a King requires, no matter how long or short his reign may be.

He paused for a moment, the hall hanging on his words, and Alyssa could see some lords muttering to themselves, and shaking their heads, and her head sank low in despair as she knew that they were lost, that she had made a fool of herself for nothing.

“However”, her head shot back up, and she could see Lord Clement still speaking, favouring her with a brief smile as he did. “He lost his battle due to lack of men, men he sent away to protect his people from Lannister raiders. When Lady Alyssa’s army attacked the Lannisters to break the siege, Ser Edmure mustered his reserves, and showed great courage by attacking the Mountain’s forces in an attempt to break the Lannister army and save his people’s lives. Wisdom. Skill in battle. Strength. These are things that can be learned, and come with experience. 

Courage. Loyalty. Love for their people. These are qualities a King needs, the very qualities the Mad King lacked, the qualities that made us put Robert on the Iron Throne, despite his faults. Ser Edmure is inexperienced, but he will have the wisdom of Ser Brynden, the strength of House Frey and the skill of Lady Alyssa to call upon to aid his reign”.

Lord Piper drew his longsword, and sank to one knee, planting the blade in the same pose as Alyssa, Ryman and Jonos. As Alyssa looked at him, hopeful, he smiled. “It’s better to have a fish ruling the Riverlands than a lion anyway, so until he hands his crown over to the stag, House Piper stands with the King of the Trident!”

His words seemed to galvanize the hall, and Karyl Vance stood. “House Tully did indeed rule the Riverlands for the Targaryens, but it was Armistead Vance who gave your ancestor Axel the land to build Riverrun on. House Vance were the River Kings back then, and we went by a different title, an older title. So from the last of the line of the old Vance kings to the first Tully one, House Vance swears fealty, now and forever, to the King of the Rivers and Hills!”

The sound of the ancient title of the River Kings, a title as old as the Kings of Winter seemed to remove whatever resistance Lucias Vypren, last of the Riverlords had left, and he was rising, drawing his blade and joining those with bent knees, the hall echoing with their shouts.

“The King of the Trident! The King of the Trident!”

Not to be left out, the Greatjon led the lords of the North in their own cry. 

“The King in the North!”

The two shouts rang off Riverrun’s rafters, shouts of a name not called for centuries, and a name never shouted for a Tully as they grew louder and louder, trying to surpass one another, before they finally settled together in a kind of harmony, aiding and complementing each other.

“The King in the North!”

“The King of the Trident!”

“The King in the North!”

“The King of the Trident!”

“THE KING IN THE NORTH!” 

“THE KING OF THE TRIDENT!”


	32. Hands and Chains

After the gathering in the hall had broken up as men and women went their separate ways to celebrate as they saw fit, Alyssa, concerned of how pale her brother had been during the meeting, went to enquire about his health. She found the newly made King of the Trident in the maester’s chambers, Maester Vyman busily rewrapping the bandages on his leg.

 

Alyssa greeted her brother with delight, noting that his skin had a far healthier colour than it had hours ago.. “You look better, Your Grace”.

 

A wan smile was his reply. “Maester Vyman does good work. And there’s no need for that from family, sister.”

 

“I merely do as is my duty”. The maester in question had approached from behind, unnoticed. With a bow of his head, he greeted Alyssa. “My lady.”

 

“Maester Vyman, it seems Edmure is recovering nicely.”

 

The old man bent his head respectfully. “The Seven have smiled upon us. There was no fracturing of the spine or splinters of bone in the legs, once the bones in his leg are strengthened, his wounds will no longer trouble him. He will ride and fight as he once did.”

 

“And how long...ah...will that be?” Edmure shifted, trying to sit up in bed, only to hiss in pain and lean back against the head of the bed for support as his leg buckled.

 

The elderly man rubbed his bald head in thought. “If you do as I say and rest, with no more foolhardy acts like that”, a pointed glare causing Edmure’s eyes to drop, suitably chastened. “Hmmm, two weeks before you can hold court again. You are well enough to attend any war councils or courts Lady Alyssa calls in the meantime, provided that you do not over-exert yourself, and stand only when necessary.”

 

Pleadingly, Edmure looked to Alyssa to overrule the maester’s opinion, but her set face destroyed his hopes. With a sigh, he nodded. “As you wish, Maester Vyman.” He turned to Alyssa with a rueful smile. “Looks like you’ll have to keep the Riverlands safe for me a little longer.”

 

“For a few weeks more, until you are able to once again”. Alyssa forced an encouraging note into her tone, hoping to keep her brother’s spirits up.”

 

“Longer than that.” There was a look in her brother’s eye that Alyssa had never seen before, as if he had looked deeply at himself and his life and found answers he did not like. “I may be able to hold court again, but we both know there’s no way I’ll be joining any attack for moons. You’ll lead the Tully forces when they march and command our troops during the Western campaign.” Edmure shifted painfully, changing his weight from the cane to his other leg. “Which reminds me. That crowning complicated things. Now that our nephew is King in the North, without me there, your position in decision making will be weakened if you can’t talk from a position of equal power.”

 

He smiled sheepishly, and Alyssa could see some of the old Edmure shine through at that moment. “I’ll need to have a pin forged, but for now, Maester Vyman should serve as a witness. Alyssa Tully, I name you Hand of the King.”

 

Alyssa’s hand went to her mouth as she gasped.  _ I expected to lead the army, true, but Hand?  _ “Your Gr...Edmure, I can’t...this is too much. I’m just a bastard, and a woman. The Northmen will never accept me as even close to equal to their King, maybe someone else, what about Uncle Brynden? The Blackfish is a legendary warrior, and a tested battle commander. The men will follow him.”

 

“He would be a better choice in their eyes, true” Edmure mused, before his eyes abruptly hardened. “And the moment where he could have done so is been and gone. Moons ago, when this all started, he could have claimed command. You had not the reputation then you do now, many would have followed Hoster’s brother over Hoster’s daughter. But he didn’t. And do you know why?”

 

His eyes met hers, and she drew back slightly, as what was usually blue pools bright with happiness turned to ice, seeming to spear through her. “Because you had your own supporters, even then. The Mallisters supported you, as did Piper and Vance; you made more friends than you thought during those years crusading against bandits. If he’d tried for command, he would have had just enough support to split our forces and divide the Riverlands at a time we absolutely could not afford to be.”

 

“So he didn’t support me because I was the best commander?’ Alyssa felt heartbroken, and her brother’s eyes softened.

 

“I didn’t say that. Uncle Brynden knew what would happen if he tried for command, and he knew what sort of commander you were likely to be. He saw what he had to do and did it; by placing his support behind you, he silenced those who thought you weren’t ready. With the Blackfish advising you, how could you fail? He felt that a united Riverlands behind you was preferable to a divided Riverlands behind him, trusted you with his reputation, and you did not let him down.”

 

The blue hardened again, and Edmure’s face drew tight. “The same reason why you did not crown yourself that night.”

 

_ He knows! _

 

“Edmure, I…”

 

A raised hand cut her off. “Enough. I know you sister, and I saw that look in your eye when you stood. It was only for a second, but I saw it. You were planning on making a move to crown yourself instead of me until the West fell, weren’t you?”

 

Alyssa’s face burned with shame at the reminder that she’d considered stealing her brother’s birthright, and her neck dropped, her eyes staring into the stone without seeing it.

 

“Look at me.” Edmure’s voice would brook no argument, and with a great effort, Alyssa managed to raise her head, meeting her brother’s gaze. “I don’t blame you.” This was so unexpected that she took a step back in shock, before looking back at Edmure who nodded grimly. “I don’t blame you. Given the way I’ve acted in this war so far, somedays I think you’d be a better Queen for the Riverlands than I could ever be as its King. So I said nothing. But then you shouted my name, and convinced Frey and Piper to join you, which was all it took. So stop blaming yourself for ‘betraying’ me, I forgave you for that as soon as it happened, that’s not my point here. What I want to know is why you thought I’d be a better ruler than you.”

 

Alyssa went to answer automatically, then her mouth closed as she registered her brother’s words, and was forced to think for a few moments. Edmure hadn’t asked why she had considered crowning herself, he had asked why she thought he would make a better king, and that required serious thought to make sure her answer didn’t offend her brother.

 

“I am a sword.” Edmure raised his eyebrow, and Alyssa spread her arms with a sigh. “That’s what I am, what I’ve wanted to be since I was a girl. A sword of House Tully, a blade to be wielded by our family. I might have, by some luck, managed not to make a mess out of my lands, but my speciality is war, that’s what I know best.”

 

“You give yourself too little credit sister” Edmure rebuked sternly. “From what I hear, your people sing the praises of their just lady who protected them when no-one else would.”

 

Alysa ducked her head briefly in acceptance of this fact. “Riverhold though, is a fraction of the size of the Kingdom of the Trident.” She sighed then, as she knew she had no way to avoid saying aloud what they both knew. “Besides, someone must lead the armies, and there’s no way I could stand to sit in Riverrun and let others fight and die on the field at my command, I need to be out there.” Her fist clenched at the mere thought of being sidelined. “Not to mention, we can’t fight this war alone. We need allies as I mentioned, and Renly is the best man to join with.” 

 

Her lips pursed as if she had bitten into a particularly sour lemon. “Renly is a vain man, and his Tyrell allies are equally proud. They’ll never accept a bastard, former or not, holding equal status to him, even for a year. You on the other hand, brother, are Father’s lawful heir, and the next Lord Paramount of the Trident when Father passes” Alyssa glanced down briefly “whenever that is” she muttered, expression downcast for a moment before she shook her head and looked up. “Father’s illness has left you Lord of the Riverlands in all but name, and the whole realm knows it, hopefully Renly will be more willing to accept you as temporary king.”

 

Satisfied at her answer, Edmure smiled to himself as he nodded briefly. “As I suspected.” Alyssa’s lack of understanding must have shown on her face, and Edmure decided to explain further. “You’ve commanded our forces since the start of this war. If I take command from you now or name another my Hand, it will seem that I cannot trust you. This will make our bannermen believe that House Tully is divided, which makes us seem weak, which in turn invites rebellion at a time we cannot allow. Now more than ever they must know that House Tully stands united and strong, that’s why I named you acting Paramount. Uncle Brynden is a wise man who has forgotten more about war than either of us will ever know, and you would do well to heed his advice, but you are my Hand, sister, the strong right hand I can rely on to wield the sword in my stead.” 

 

He reached up and grasped her hand between his own. “I meant what I said. What happened that night is over with. I will never tell Father, and none here will speak of it again, consider that an order” he added as an aside to the listening guards. “I never blamed you for it, so worry over it no longer, Aly.”

 

“Aly.” Alyssa turned the new nickname over in her mouth, and Edmure smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. 

 

“They say in the Dance of Dragons, at the Battle of the Kingsroad, Alysanne Blackwood’s archers slaughtered thousands of knights. You may wield blades instead of a bow, but I see Black Aly come again before me. Make those lions pay, sister.”

 

Alyssa nodded gravely, feeling the weight of her new responsibilities upon her.  “I will, brother. I swear to you, they will die so the Riverlands can be kept safe under your rule.

 

“Lord Hoster’s rule”, the maester quietly admonished.

 

“That reminds me, how is my lord father?” Vyman went to answer, but Alyssa cut him off gently. “Let’s walk while we talk, Maester, you no doubt have duties to get back to, and I need to know what I’ve missed.”

 

“As you wish, my lady.” 

 

Alyssa bowed her head to Edmure as he lay back down on the bed. “By your leave, Your Grace.”

 

Her brother gave a very unkingly bark of laughter and snorted. “Of course, Lady Hand. Good day, Maester.”

 

Alyssa chuckled as Edmure walked away, before smiling at Maester Vyman. “So, Maester, tell me how the Riverlands fare?

 

The grey-robed man folded his arms into his sleeves and began moving towards his chambers, Alyssa keeping pace beside him, having to deliberately keep her speed slow enough to match his shuffle. “To tell it truthfully Lady Hand, things had been going ill even before the host left. Ser Edmure, forgive me, His Grace, gathered all the food for miles around into Riverrun when the siege began, and that was all but consumed by the time you lifted the siege. Our supplies were already limited before, and now thousands more mouths have been added thanks to the prisoners you took at the Camps and the Red Fork.”

 

They turned a corner and proceeded into the courtyard as the maester continued. “Worse, keeping the army in the field keeps the smallfolk out of theirs. Lords have already reported the loss of their crops, they just don’t have enough men left to harvest them.” He turned his head, and his eyes were downcast as he spoke. “Recent reports say that a company of sellswords calling themselves the Brave Companions have been harassing the smallfolk. They dare not cross the Red Fork, but over the river, especially on Lord Lychester’s former lands, they’ve been killing and raping every man, woman and child unable to hide behind a stone wall, stealing everything they can carry and burning the rest.”

 

Alyssa’s fists clenched in her gloves as they approached the door to the maester’s chambers. “I abandoned my lands, and now my people suffer, is that it?”

 

“Yes.” Vyman was a plain-spoken man, and he did nothing to soften the blow. “Your people suffer because you left them, and it will only end when their lady returns with her forces. Your garrison has kept your castle safe enough, but they lack the strength to range beyond the river.” He turned his head, and his eyes stared directly into hers. “And like it or not, Lady Hand, neither you, nor I can change that at this moment, so let us return to other matters.”

 

“So be it”. Alyssa breathed deeply for a moment, before blowing out a long breath, envisioning her frustration going away on the wind with it. “The greatest problems, you say, are our excess of prisoners, lack of food and insufficient men to harvest the crops.” Her hand rubbed her brow for a moment, before her head snapped upright as if she was struck, and her eyes met the maester’s; both young woman and old man breaking into smiles as the solution appeared.

 

Since the fighting outside Riverrun, nearly two thousand Lannister armsmen had been imprisoned by the Tullys. Riverrun’s dungeons had nowhere near the ability to hold that many prisoners, so they were held in makeshift pens along the bank of the Red Fork. They were cramped, crowded, and smelled, since the prisoners rarely got a chance to exercise or bathe. Leaving Maester Vyman to his own business, Alyssa turned on her heel and moved quickly towards the stables. 

 

The largest pens contained the men of House Plumm; Alyssa had offered Lord Dennis fair treatment if he yielded during the attack on the camp, and she had honored that by giving the Plumm men the biggest cells, and having them kept relatively clean. Lord Dennis himself had been given some extra privileges in exchange for his parole, which he had gladly agreed to, unwilling to escape without his men, and unable to break them all out. Alyssa swung off her horse and nodded to the guard in front of his tent before entering, where she found Lord Dennis working out with another of his privileges; a wooden sword. At the sight of her, he dropped the blade and smiled politely.

 

“My lady”.

 

Alyssa returned the smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Lord Dennis. And I’m afraid it’s Lady Hand now, my brother has been named King of the Trident by my lord father’s bannermen, and has named me his Hand of the King. Are you well?”

 

“Well enough,  _ my lady _ ”.

 

Alyssa frowned, but decided not to push it, clearly she’d get nowhere with the stubborn man on that account.“And your men? How do they fare?”

 

Now his smile turned to a frown.

 

“Not well, my lady. They may have the best pens, but still, they need air and better food. Not to mention baths and space to move around.”

 

Alyssa nodded briefly as her chosen course of action was confirmed in her mind. “There may be something we can do about that, Lord Dennis.”

 

“What?”

 

“You’ll see.” She smiled, warmly this time. “You are Lord of Castle Plumm, are you not?”

 

“I am”. Lord Dennis’s tone displayed his confusion for all to see. “Why ask what you already know?”

 

In lieu of answer, her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Who holds your castle at the moment? If you made an agreement on behalf of your house, would the castellan respect it?

 

Lord Dennis was not a fool, and his face hardened as he saw what she was driving at. “As Lord of House Plumm, I am the only one with authority over my House. What do you want?”

 

“Come with me, my lord.” Alyssa gestured to the tent’s entrance, and the Plumm lord rose to accompany her, Alyssa nodding to the guard when he started to go for his sword. She led him over to the pens, where the Plumm men cried out in relief at seeing Lord Dennis, hoping that he would improve things for them. Lord Dennis’s fists clenched in distress upon the sight of his men’s plight, just as Alyssa had hoped.

 

“What do you want?” He squeezed out through gritted teeth and inwardly, Alyssa smiled.

 

“As you can see Lord Dennis, we simply aren’t set up for keeping thousand of prisoners here, not to mention we can barely feed them for a few more days. However, I can’t simply let them go, and have them march on me again as soon as Tywin or you rearm them. So my offer is this.” She drew a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye. “I will release you and all the men who serve your House, without ransom, provided that you swear, on behalf of House Plumm, that your House will withdraw its forces from the field and make no further attack upon the forces of House Tully or House Stark.”

 

“So that’s it” he muttered. He looked to Alyssa, then to his men, glancing pleadingly through the pens at him, before his shoulders set and he drew himself up. “I can’t. Even if I wanted to, Lord Tywin would destroy us like he destroyed Reyne and Tarbeck should we betray him like this. I’d be signing my family’s death warrants for something most of them don’t even know has happened.”

 

Alyssa pursed her lips briefly, it was an annoyance, though in truth, not an unexpected one. “All right then, you can go back to your tent. This next part is for your men.”

 

“My men?” Lord Dennis frowned. “I think I should stay here, my lady.”

 

Alyssa’s jaw was set. “That wasn’t a request, my lord.” She beckoned, and the guard approached, hand on his sword hilt. With an annoyed sigh, Lord Dennis allowed the man to lead him back to his tent, where he resumed his practice, unable to do anything else. Another guard unlatched the door to the pen, allowing a man dressed in a dirty, stained tabard displaying the triple plums of Plumm to exit, before it was closed and latched once more. 

 

Unsteadily, the man rose to his feet, joints clearly stiff after weeks of imprisonment, before dropping to his knees. “Milady.”

 

Alyssa waved a hand impatiently. “Rise, rise already.” The man got to his feet slowly, still trying to avoid looking her in the eyes. With a sigh, Alyssa decided to get to the point, or spend hours with this nonsense. “What’s your name, man?”

 

“W-Willem.” The voice was dry, and sounded rusty for disuse. “My name is Willem, milady.”

 

“Willem.” Alyssa’s tone was distant, her mind elsewhere as she remembered a golden-haired boy in Lannister colours, before a spear point took him in the chest. She shook her head briefly to clear her thoughts. “And tell me, Willem, what were you before Lord Tywin made you a soldier? Fisherman, blacksmith?”

 

“Farmer, milady. I was a farmer on the coast before Lord Tywin called and Lord Dennis put a spear in me hand.”

 

“A farmer.” Alyssa let the words hang for a moment before she nodded briefly. “You might’ve noticed, Willem, that we have a lack of farmers around here. Not to mention a lack of food, and far too many people to feed.”

 

“Aye, milady?”

 

Suddenly, Alyssa’s eyes went cold, and the warmth seemed to leave her features. “To put it bluntly, our food situation is near desperate, and I can no longer afford to keep you and the other prisoners. After some thinking, I’ve come up with four possibilities. This isn’t Lord Dennis’s business anymore, pick the choice that you feel best. I’ll be asking all the others separately.”

 

“What are they, milady?”

 

“Well, the obvious choice is that you turn your cloaks and join House Tully. You’ll get arms and armor, and become part of our host for the attack on the Westerlands.” 

 

After a second, Willem shook his head firmly. “Kill me countrymen? Couldn’t do it, milady. What else?”

 

Alyssa clicked her tongue in annoyance. “Alright. Choice number two is that we release you and escort you back to the Golden Tooth...”

 

“That sounds great, milady”

 

“Without your sword hand.” Willem looked up sharply at that, and Alyssa smiled grimly. “I’d be a fool to let you go only for Tywin to put spears in your hands again, so your sword hand will be removed so you can never again wield a blade against House Tully.”

 

Almost before Alyssa finished speaking, Willem sharply shook his head, and she took that as a no. “I think you’ll hate the third option, but it’s the most convenient for me, and what will happen if you don’t choose. Instead of your hand, we take your head.”

 

As if conjured by her words, the Red Fork rippled and a cold breeze blew in from the west, the chilly air brushing across Willem’s neck. Against his will, he jerked, then realized in terror that may have been taken as an acceptance. “Please, no milady. Anything but that?”

 

The man was shaking, and Alyssa waited a few moments for him to regain control of himself. “No then. That leaves just one choice left. And don’t forget, if you don’t choose, its your head.” Willem shook like a leaf on the wind once more, and Alyssa decided just to continue rather than waste more time. “As I said before, we have a lack of farmers at the moment. Nearly every man of fighting age in the Riverlands has been called to war, and we dare not pull them back now as we prepare to march into the West. The problem is, every man in the field is one less on the fields. Harvest time has come, and crops die in the fields with no one to harvest them. We simply don’t have enough men to swing the scythes.”

 

Alyssa bent down to where Willem was still cowering on the ground, and grasped his chin, forcing him to look into her eyes. “The last option, Willem, is this. You and your fellow farmers come and work on our farms. You’ll be planting crops and bringing in harvests all over the Riverlands. You’ll be guarded, but fed and paid with a twentieth of the crop that you harvest.”

 

“Harvest?” The shaking stopped, and Willem got to his feet. “We get to farm again, and you’re paying us?” He received a nod in reply, and could scarcely believe his ears. “And I won’t have men tryin’ to kill me?”

 

“If you try to run, the soldiers guarding the farm will kill you, but otherwise, no.”

 

“Run?” Willem’s tone was just short of disdainful. “Why the hell would I run, milady? I’m gettin’ food, pay and gettin’ out of the war! Not to mention better treatment!”

 

“Better treatment?” Alyssa tilted her head in curiosity. “I thought Lord Tywin would know better than to mistreat the source of his wealth; it’s the smallfolk who mine his gold.”

 

“That’s true enough, milady, and he knows that as well as you.” Willem’s face was downcast in sadness. “The miners are treated almost as well as Lannisters, but farming has never been a Western speciality. We get treated almost as bad as cattle, whereas I hear you Tullys treat your farmers well.”

 

“Aside from fishing, farming is our main source of income, we’d be fools not to.” Alyssa smiled warmingly. “But the conditions help. The rivers that are the lifeblood of these lands make the soil soft and fertile, you won’t find easier farming anywhere, even in the Reach. They might have the most farmland, but we have the best.”

 

“Good land to work, food and pay.” Willem rubbed his head in wonder. I must be dreamin’.”

 

“I assume this means you’ll be choosing the farms then.”

 

Quiet until now, the men in the pen began voicing their approval, and a wide smile split Willem’s face. “That I will, milady, and from the sounds of it, most of the rest will too.”

 

“Good”. Glancing around the camp for a moment, Alyssa took in the number of prisoners, and men guarding them, before nodding to herself as she came to a decision and motioned for one of the guards to call for their captain. A skinny man in Vance colors, he soon arrived, well-used axe hanging from his belt.

 

“My lady.”

 

“Captain.” Alyssa turned to look at Willem briefly. “I must leave now, while I’m gone, I want you to take the prisoners from their pens, one at a time, and offer them one of four choices. Willem here knows the terms I’m offering” clapping her hand on his shoulder. “Once they’ve chosen, sort them into pens with others who’ve made the same choice. When I return on the morrow, there should be four distinct groups of prisoners ready to be dealt with as they chose.”

 

“Of course my lady.” Lord Vance’s man bowed and turned to his men, calling more into the centre of the camp to ensure none escaped while Alyssa mounted her horse, starting towards Riverrun with a tap of her heel.

 

The ride back gave her time to consider her next move and when she dismounted in Riverrun’s stable, she handed her mare’s reins to a stableboy and tossed him a coin, instructing him to take good care of her. The boy stammered his thanks and took his brush, moving it carefully through the mare’s coat, while Alyssa turned on her heel and left the stables. Moving quickly towards the Great Hall, she caught the attention of a passing servant, and instructed him to find Utherydes Wayn, and have him call a war council in the Great Hall. After a moment, she also ordered Ser Cleos Frey be brought to the hall as well, her boots clicking on the stone as she headed there herself.

 

Riverrun may have been a small castle for the seat of a Paramount, but calling together all the Lords of the North and the Trident was no easy task. Some were drinking, some sleeping, some on duty with their men in the camps and some whoring, so it took time before the council could be held. Just as Lady Maege came in from the camps, the doors opened wide to reveal Edmure, carried in on a litter held by four strong guardsman, Maester Vyman at his side.  The guards brought the litter to the table, moving aside chairs to make room. Alyssa settled into her father’s high seat, with Robb beside her, in a large chair brought down from her father’s quarters to serve as a makeshift throne for the King in the North. Lady Maege took her own seat, and Alyssa cleared her throat.

 

“My lords and ladies, thank you for coming so swiftly. I’ve called you here to discuss certain details about our attack on the Westerlands, namely, what will happen to the Riverlands in our absence. Did all of you find those men I requested?”

 

“Aye, but what’s it all about?” Blunt as ever, the Greatjon voiced the question on everyone’s minds. “You said yourself you can’t pull any more men into the field, so why are you having me send my men back?”

 

“Oh!” Alyssa gasped, hand to her mouth. “My apologies Lord Umber, I didn’t mean you Northmen. Only the Lords of the Trident were required to, I should have been clearer when I gave my orders. As for why, here’s my plan…”

 

As she explained what was even now occurring on the banks of the Red Fork, the hall was silent for a moment until the Greatjon, in his usual manner, shattered that silence dramatically.

 

“Ha! Keep this shit up, girl, and I might actually start to like you. Using Lannister men to work Tully farms to keep your army in the field; that’s brilliant! Old Tywin will be spitting fucking flames when he finds out!”

 

“I hope he does.” Alyssa bowed slightly before her mischievous smile faded and her looks turned serious. “The other reason I called you here, my lords, is to discuss a far more serious matter. I mean to send terms to King’s Landing offering peace if King Joffrey agrees to our demands.” Taking a deep breath, Alyssa raised her voice as the room exploded into rage, shouting above the noise to make herself heard. “My lords!” Slowly, the shouting began to die down, and Alyssa seized her opportunity. “I have no intention of sending terms without your approval, nor of agreeing to put down our swords without Tywin Lannister grovelling for mercy.” Maester Vyman handed Brynden a scroll, the Blackfish merely raising an eyebrow as he read, before handing it to Lord Piper. Curses and whistles could be heard as the scroll passed from hand to hand before Maester Vyman returned it to Alyssa. 

 

Many lords shouted their own suggestions or alterations to the terms, which were heavily debated, and the candles were burning low by the time Maester Vyman finished copying the final document. It was passed around one last time to ensure the agreed upon demands had been respected, before Alyssa signed first in a neat hand and set her seal below it. Lord Piper was next, then Lord Vance, each lord signing and sealing the paper as it went around the table. Lord Vypren’s signature was faint, and his seal shallower than the others; the Lord of Greenwater Bound uncomfortable with committing himself to rebellion against the Iron Throne, but unwilling to refuse in front of the other lords. At last, Lady Mormont slammed her fist into the green wax, her signet ring clearly leaving behind the rampant bear of Mormont, before the paper was passed to Edmure and Robb to sign as Kings. 

 

Some discussion had come about as to who should sign first, only for Lord Bolton to suggest a solution so obvious many lords had groaned upon hearing it. Two separate columns of signatures now lined the bottom of the scroll, the Lords of the Trident on the left, while the Lords of the North signed on the right. Still a little unsteady, Edmure signed and added his titles. Alyssa barely managed to hide her wince at the sight of a leaping trout with a crown on its head; the new seal of the Kingdom of the Trident created by Riverrun’s smith.

 

_ Clearly he’s getting on in years if he thinks that looks kingly. _

 

The direwolf of Stark wore its crown much better, set besides the trout symbolising equality.

 

_ The North and the Trident as one.   _

 

Though in truth, that was far from accurate. While the Stark forces outnumbered the Tullys four to three, the Rivermen had earned the lion’s share of the spoils and glory of the war thus far. 

 

Alyssa chuckled briefly at her own joke.

 

_ Lion’s share, how amusing.  _

 

After destroying the Kingslayer at Riverhold, the Riverlords had followed up with victories at Riverrun and the Red Fork, driving Tywin into retreat. In contrast, the Northmen had only the one-sided victory at Fairmarket and the surrender of Raventree Hall to their name.

 

Tully and Stark may have been allies through Catelyn’s marriage, but the Tullys were still of the South and to the Northerners, Southrons were weak knights of summer too busy jousting and praying to their false gods to fight properly. Having come south confidently boasting to themselves of how they’d do the job the Tullys were unable to themselves, the Northmen were now finding that they’d spent months on the march for nothing. Not only was the fighting nearly over, but the Lannisters had been beaten back by a woman, and many Northmen secretly held a grudge at being upstaged. 

 

The bad blood was in no way one-sided however, just as Northerners despised Southerners, the South commonly saw the men from the North as uncultured savages who prayed to trees. For all that they’d come to aid the Tullys as per their alliance, the North had arrived too late, scarcely days after the fighting was finished. Lords who had lost thousands of men in the fighting such as Piper and Vance were bitter over their allies arriving too late to do much good, and talk had been heard about the “Late Lord” being replaced by the “Late King” now that Walder Frey had found wherever in the Seven Hells he’d been keeping his loyalty in the last few decades.

 

With Riverrun’s supplies already tight, the arrival of tens of thousands of more mouths was unwelcome indeed, and many were growing to feel that the Northmen were eating good Riverlands food while doing nothing to earn it. These feelings were mainly hidden from Robb and Edmure, but frustration boiled on both sides and if nothing was done soon, the crack in their alliance would become a gaping chasm; tearing their forces in two.

 

Chains clanking interrupted Alyssa’s thoughts and she turned to see guards approaching, Ser Cleos Frey held between them. Schooling her features back into some semblance of control, she glanced first at Edmure, then at Robb, and after receiving a nod from them both, drew Bloodclaw from her side and placed it across her knees. A hiss of steel on leather from the side and a sideways flick of her eyes told that her nephew was doing the same. 

 

With a signal to Ser Robin, the guards pushed Ser Cleos forwards and forced him to his knees. It had been agreed that as the steward of the hosting house, Ser Utherydes would introduce both kings, and so he struck his staff on the floor. “You kneel before Their Graces Robb of the House Stark, First Of That Name, Lord of Winterfell and King in the North, and Edmure of the House Tully, First Of That Name, King of the Trident.”

 

Grey Wind padded forward, teeth bared and Ser Cleos scrambled back, eyes wide with fear. “Please, call him off, my lord….”

 

“Your Grace.” Theon Greyjoy had declared her nephew King along with the northmen, and was apparently eager to prove his loyalty, as his hand twitched over his quiver.

 

“Your Grace” Ser Cleos hastily corrected himself, eyes still fixed on the slowly advancing Grey Wind. “Your Grace, please.”

 

Glancing at the blond knight as Robb whistled sharply to call Grey Wind back to his side, Alyssa couldn’t help but feel that the hair colour was the only thing Ser Cleos shared with his cousin.  _ The Kingslayer would have let Grey Wind tear his throat out before calling Robb Your Grace, let alone begging for his life.  _ A low growl came from the direwolf as it returned to Robb’s side. Its eyes fixed on the young knight, causing him to jump in fear. The lords and knights present laughed at his cowardice, and though Alyssa had to hide her own smile, she knew they would get nothing done like this and decided to intervene. “Calm down, Ser” her voice was firm, but deliberately non-threatening, for the moment. 

 

Ser Cleos’ head snapped to the right, and his trembling began to cease as his eyes left the massive wolf. “Yes...yes my lady.”

 

“Lady Hand.” Now all eyes in the hall were on Maester Vyman as he approached, the old man moving slowly with his chain clanking. “His Grace Ser Edmure named Lady Alyssa Hand of the King Ser Cleos, and on this day, she speaks with his voice”

 

“Of course, my apologies Lady Hand.”

 

A flick of Alyssa’s hand accepted and dismissed his apology.  “Accepted and forgotten, Ser Cleos. Now, to business. We did not call you here to harm you.” She looked to Robb, and her nephew took up the talking, hand scratching behind Grey Wind’s ears as he spoke. “We brought you from your cell to carry a message to your cousin Cersei Lannister in King’s Landing. You’ll travel under a peace banner, escorted by knights”.

 

Ser Cleos visibly exhaled, relief written all over his face at the chance of being away from Grey Wind. “I would be most glad to carry Their Grace’s message to the queen.” The Lannister knight’s relief was a little too visible, and Alyssa decided to point something out to him.

 

“You should know, Ser Cleos, we are not giving you your freedom. Your lord grandfather pledged me his support, and that of House Frey. Many of your kin fought with us at the Camps, and Ser Stevron, your grandfather’s heir, died for us at the Woods.” Her eyes narrowed as she stared directly at him. “You, on the other hand chose to ride beside the Kingslayer. That makes you a Lannister, not a Frey. You will swear, on your honor as a knight, that after you deliver our message to the queen, you will return with her answer and resume your captivity.”

 

“I so swear” the knight replied instantly.

 

“Every man in this hall has heard you”. Her nephew’s face was as stone. “If you do not return, the entire realm will know you as an oathbreaker”.

 

“I will do as I pledged” Ser Cleos said stiffly, eyes warily fixed on Grey Wind. “What is this message?”

 

“An offer of peace. Tell the queen that if she meets our terms, we will sheath our swords and put an end to the fighting between us.” Robb held out his hand, and Maester Vyman placed a scroll into it. The knight went to open it, but a sharp word from Alyssa stayed his hand.

 

“That is for the queen’s eyes, not yours ser. All you need concern yourself with is delivering it.” Ser Cleos jerked his hand back as if burned, and Robb nodded gravely. “You’ll ride at first light.”

 

“Ser Robin” Alyssa called, pitching her voice as to be heard by the captain of the guard standing by the doors; “give Ser Cleos a hot meal and clean clothes. He’ll meet his escort in the morning, and receive his weapons then.”

 

“As you command, my lady Hand.”

 

“Then we are done.” Robb sheathed his sword and stood up from his chair, whistling for Grey Wind. “The lady Hand knows the rest of what must be done, and you will follow her instructions as you would my own, my lords.” The direwolf stretched himself and rose, before both left the hall. The guards took Ser Cleos away, but Alyssa remained seated.

 

“As to Ser Cleos’ escort, my lords, each of you will provide one knight or armored lance to join it. He’ll be escorted by thirty men, fifteen from the North and fifteen from the Riverlands, to show our unity. Houses Frey, Mallister, Piper and Mooton, along with myself, will provide two, to replace those who now lack the strength.”

 

There was grumbling at this, as expected, but one or two knights were easily spared, and the complaints were token only. Alyssa rose, and nodded to Utherydes, who smashed his staff upon the floor to dismiss the gathering. As the hour was growing late, Alyssa headed for her chambers, intending to sleep for hours, unlike poor Ser Cleos, who had an early start and a long ride on the morrow. As her eyes closed, her mouth curved into a slight smile at Cersei Lannister’s reaction to their peace terms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said that chapters would be coming faster while I was on break, but my beta is working now and I'm looking for work as well, so we'll update when we can. I'll try to put out one a week or so.
> 
> As for right now however, bit of a heads-up: after reading reviews people post, I can see mistakes that I've made in places, so I'll be looking over the reviews and chapters tonight and tomorrow and making some fixes, so sorry if you jump at notifications.


	33. Beetle in the Hedge

The morning after Ser Cleos departed for King’s Landing, a war council was held to determine the alliance’s current course of action. Edmure’s seat was empty as Alyssa entered the room, her brother still under Maester Vyman’s care. Alyssa approached the table, eyebrows rising around it as she neared Edmure’s seat, before stepping past and seating herself to its right. With a wave, she beckoned Brynden to take the seat on the right of hers. More trickled in, before Rickard Karstark, last to arrive, stumbled in still yawning. It was early in the day, and the Karstark men had taken the late watch in the camps that night.

 

They assembled in the Great Hall of Riverrun. A large map of the Riverlands and another of Westeros as a whole had already been spread out over the tables. Once Lord Karstark sat, men began to gather around the maps, arguing over what their first move should be. Marq Piper urged a strike west at Casterly Rock, to end the Lannisters for good. Ser Ryman preferred patience, to rebuild their forces before making their next move. The Greatjon wanted to take a more direct path, storming King’s Landing to free his lord. Roose Bolton approved this, if only because with the royal children as hostages, they could demand Lord Tywin’s surrender.

 

Alyssa remained silent, gathering her thoughts, planning what she would say when it was her turn to speak. Lady Maege Mormont and her daughters declined to suggest a plan, the Lady of Bear Island merely approving or rejecting each idea with a simple nod or shake of her head. At last, Lord Karstark suggested hunting down the Lannister raiders still in the Riverlands, and then the eyes of the assembled nobles fell on Alyssa. Before she could speak, a timid voice cut through the silence.

 

“Ex...excuse me. My lady Hand, forgive me, but this may be important. A raven just arrived for you.”

 

Grateful for the chance to put off needing to speak in front of so many powerful people, Alyssa took the scroll, only for her eyebrows to rise dramatically as the seal stamped into the red wax told her who the message was from. Her reaction did not go unnoticed.

 

“What is it, my lady?” Ser Marq asked, the quickest to do so.

 

“The red salmon of House Mooton. It’s a message from Maidenpool.” Sliding her dagger from its sheath, she broke the wax and opened the paper impatiently, eyes flicking over the contents. When she was finished, she read it once more slowly, before rolling it up and tossing it into the centre of the table as her face broke out into a smile.

 

“The best news we could have hoped for, my lords. Lord William Mooton has finally decided to take a side. The full strength of House Mooton, minus four hundred to hold Maidenpool, is on its way to us even as we speak. They departed yesterday from the Bay of Crabs, taking ship down the Trident. They will link up with Lord Roote at Harroway, before sailing to Riverrun near two thousand strong.”

 

“Good to hear.” Lord Rickard folded his arms, staring bluntly into Alyssa’s eyes. “But now that you mention that, my lady Hand, how many men do you have? If King Robb and your brother are to be allies in this war, how many men is the King of the Trident bringing to this alliance?”

 

Alyssa thought quickly, attempting to recall her recent losses. “Seven thousand here, another two thousand or close to it on the river, four thousand with Lord Vance and Lord Piper escorting the Kingslayer here from Riverhold and close to two thousand staging our siege of Stone Hedge.” 

 

“Near enough to fifteen thousand then”. Robb gave a short nod. “We have near twenty thousand with us, so united, the North and the Riverlands can field close to thirty-five thousand men.”

 

“The question is”, the Greatjon rumbled, “what will we do with them? Lady Alyssa, you’ve not spoken yet. What say you?”

 

Taking a moment to think, Alyssa formed her statements carefully. “While I would love to march on King’s Landing, bring that boy to heel and free my goodbrother, Lord Tywin is no fool, my lord Umber. He’ll be raising a new host in the Westerlands, and we’d be leaving ourselves vulnerable by marching east. Ser Marq, I agree with you in that the Lannisters will never be beaten until Casterly Rock falls, but we dare not march west and leave the lions in the heart of our lands, lest they tear out our unguarded throats. 

 

I told you, Lord Jonos, that I hadn’t forgotten your sacrifice. To march on the West, we will need our full strength. We dare not move on the Lannisters without Lord Vypren’s men, and we cannot safely withdraw Lord Vypren’s force until Stone Hedge is retaken. I say, my lords, that once Lord Mooton’s men arrive, we muster our full force, march on Stone Hedge and take it back. Once it falls, our eastern flank will be secure, and the Riverlands will be free.”

 

There was silence for a moment as the assembled lords considered her words. “While I would be glad to see those lions gone from my seat” Lord Jonos began cautiously, “the situation remains the same as it was when we first approached Stone Hedge. The castle is too strong, and the price we would have to pay too heavy.”

 

“Not so, my lord.” Alyssa’s lips curved into a smile. “When we first arrived, we had them mayhaps thirty to one. Now, we have over a hundred times their numbers, and Lord Vypren has been laying siege for nearly a moon.  We have siege towers, rams and catapults there, but we won’t need them. We have an overwhelming advantage, we could leave a tenth of our force there to keep them trapped until they starved, and they’ll know it. Much like the Lannisters at Raventree did, the garrison of Stone Hedge may well surrender.”

 

“Surrender?” The Greatjon was furious. “You’d let those Lannister shits go to attack us again?”

 

“Attack us again?” Alyssa shrugged, uncaring. “Once we take their weapons and armour, they won’t be able to fight a farmer with a scythe, let alone an army. Oh, Lord Tywin can replace their arms and armor once they reach the Westerlands again, but I’d trade a few hundred men for Stone Hedge any day.” Lord Umber’s understanding grin seemed to calm the room, and with a glance to Robb, who simply nodded, the matter was settled.

 

Late the next day, banners were sighted on the road and Alyssa was glad to see the return of the Lords Vance and Piper, with all their power.  Hundreds of men lined the courtyard, weapons held warily as the prisoners were marched to the dungeons. When Jaime Lannister himself was dragged from the last wagon, hardly anyone even dared to breathe until he was behind lock and key, so fearful they were of an attempt to free the prisoners. Alyssa was sure Jaime would be cursing were he able, but Lord Vance had foreseen this difficulty and had him gagged, forcing the Lannister to settle for glaring at his captors until the rag was wrenched from his mouth, at which point he unleashed a torrent of foul language as the the door of his cell slammed shut.

 

With the return of Vance and Piper’s forces, the Tully host was vastly increased in size, and all present in Riverrun could feel the energy. The march would be soon, they all knew, the only thing delaying it the need to wait for the Mooton reinforcements to arrive and many squires began taking bets on exactly when that would be. Five days later, when boats sailed down the Red Fork, the red salmon of Mooton displayed on their sails, coins were handed over, along with a healthy portion of curses as the previous owners grumbled about their losses. 

 

As the boats bumped into the shore, planks were set up and men and horses began to disembark. Most of the nobles in the castle were there to greet the newest additions to their forces. Lord Mooton had evidently decided that he wanted to keep his head, and had lived up to his word. Maidenpool had committed knights, archers and footmen to the Tully cause, a host sixteen hundred strong, although Alyssa noted with some disgust that Lord William had not deigned to come himself. However, he was not the only one to send help. 

 

Now that the Lannisters were in full retreat; young Lord Roote was more willing to part with men from his garrison, and he had come through for Alyssa as well, sending two hundred more men to join the Mootons on the river. On the other hand, the messenger sent with the men informed her that this force represented the last of the help she could expect from either of the two Houses present. She was amused also to hear that Harroway’s Lord had wanted to ride out himself to aid them, only for his mother to lock him in his chambers until the men had departed.

 

At dawn next day, thousands of men massed in front of Riverrun as the alliance of Houses Stark and Tully prepared to march. Since Riverrun’s own forces had been all but destroyed; Alyssa left two hundred of her own men behind to defend her father’s castle under the command of Ser Robin Ryger, who swore before the Seven that he would not let Riverrun fall. The remainder moved east down the River Road, beginning the week-long march to Stone Hedge.

 

Ser Jon Bettley yawned and stretched his arms tiredly as he woke from his sleep. Ringing for a servant, he began to pull on his breeches, shaking his head to try and rouse himself fully. A servant girl still dressed in Bracken colours arrived carrying a basin of water, and after placing it down, busied herself in pulling the sheets back over the bed that once belonged to Lord Jonos Bracken. Ser Jon took his breakfast in Lord Bracken’s solar, then prepared for another day of boredom. Ever since Lord Tywin had marched off to Riverrun, Ser Jon and his men had been charged with the duty of holding Stone Hedge, a duty that was both vital, and inescapably dull. True, Lord Tywin would not risk allowing their base for the campaign to fall, but a garrison of three hundred men was not only more than a castle this size needed, it was almost ludicrous. Stone Hedge could be held by slightly over a hundred for weeks, leaving the castle overcrowded and full of bored soldiers. 

 

To avoid a riot, Ser Jon had been forced to turn a blind eye to some of the less savoury entertainments his men found for themselves, such as dragging serving girls into a chamber, organising cock fights and even betting on bare-fisted brawls. Heaving a deep sigh as his squire helped him into his armour, he belted on his sword and decided to take a walk around the battlements to inspect the Vypren siege lines. In truth though, it was not even a true siege. Oh, the castle was surrounded, and any ravens sent were shot down, but whenever some of his men left to gather food or even stage a makeshift tourney, their besiegers were content to simply watch. Or in the latter case, join in.

 

That said, any who tried to ride west were turned back or slain, and their food supply was beginning to run low. Lord Bracken had not thought to prepare Stone Hedge for siege before he marched to Riverrun to answer Ser Edmure’s call, and Ser Jon’s garrison was far larger than Stone Hedge could reasonably expect to support. Lord Jonos had left a hundred and twenty of his best men to hold his castle in his absence, and the granaries held enough to feed them and the castle staff for several moons. Ser Jon’s force, however, more than twice the size of Lord Jonos’ garrison, meant that they ate through the supplies over twice as quickly.

 

On his way to the walls, the castle’s aged maester met Jon with a frown on his wrinkled face. “A moment, Ser?”

 

Returning his thoughts to the present, Ser Jon glanced up at the maester. “Yes?”

 

The elderly man pulled a scroll from his robes and offered it with a bow. “The report you asked for, ser. Regarding the state of our supplies.”

 

“Of course, thank you, Maester.” Taking the scroll, Ser Jon slit the ribbon and began examining its contents. As he should have expected of something written by a student of the Citadel, it was likely twice the length it should have been, full of complicated words written in a neat, practised hand. Unable to understand much of the document, but unwilling to admit his lack of education, he crumpled it in a fist.

 

“I am a busy man, Maester, the short version if you please.”

 

The elderly man’s eyes flashed for a moment, before he returned to his position of obedience, hands folded in his robe. “As you wish, Ser. In summary, at our current rate of consumption, barring any immediate changes, we have supplies sufficient for two weeks.”

 

“Two weeks?” Ser Jon was equal parts outrage and surprise. “Lord Tywin is still besieging Riverrun, and that siege may last moons more. Riverrun is a week away, are you telling me that if Lord Tywin hasn’t taken the castle in seven days, that we’ll be down to eating rats and boot leather?”

 

“Of course not, Ser.” The Bettley knight breathed a sigh of relief, until the maester smiled, and his next words fell on Ser Jon as a rock from a catapult. “That has already been taken into account. Two weeks until the men here will be eating nothing, or each other. We will be eating horses within three days, and rats and boot leather within a week, as mentioned in my report.”

 

“Two weeks.” Ser Jon placed his head in his hands. “This siege could go on for two more moons!” With apparent effort, he raised it again. “Then we must do something. Organise foraging parties.”

 

“I regret to inform you, ser, that foraging is no longer possible. Every scrap of food between the walls and Lord Vypren’s lines has been plucked out and devoured already.” The old maester’s smile was just a little too wide, and Ser Jon decided it was time to explain a few truths to the old man.”

 

“You are sworn to serve whoever holds Stone Hedge, is that not true? You served Lord Bracken for years.”

 

“I did indeed, ser.” The maester drew himself up proudly. “And his father before him.”

 

“A service to be proud of.” Ser Jon smiled warmly. “The Brackens held Stone Hedge for thousands of years.” His smile abruptly disappeared, and his voice took a dangerous edge. “And then it fell to House Lannister. Lord Tywin has named me castellan, so in his absence, you are now sworn to serve me, is that not so?” 

 

There was only silence as the knight stared at the maester for a moment, before the older man visibly crumpled. “It is, Ser.”

 

Jon nodded in satisfaction. “Then I’ll ask you again, what are our options?”

 

The old man ran a liver-spotted hand through what remained of his grey hair as he thought for a moment. “We could organise raiding parties, try and approach the Vypren lines under cover of darkness and steal some supplies.”

 

Instantly, Ser Jon shook his head firmly. “Far too risky, and even being seen would tell the Vyprens that we’re desperate. Not to mention we could never steal enough to feed us all, and that much food going missing regularly would draw attention.”

 

The maester nodded as he absorbed this, before stroking the faint remnants of his beard. “You may not wish to hear this, ser, but our position seems hopeless. Perhaps we should accept this fight as lost, Lord Vypren would surely give acceptable terms if we yield the castle…

 

He got no further before Ser Jon cut him off sharply with a single word. “No”. It was not quite a shout, but only just. “Lord Tywin entrusted me with the duty of holding Stone Hedge in his absence, and I do not intend to fail him. Surrender is not an option, have you no other wisdom to offer?”

 

The maester twisted his hands in his robes for a moment, before he sighed. “Well ser, as much as I hate saying this, our only remaining chance of surviving long enough for Lord Tywin to break this siege and relieve us is to reduce the number of mouths in this castle.”

 

“Reduce the number of mouths?” Ser Jon’s voice showed the lack of comprehension evident on his face. “We can’t just throw people out of this castle, where would they go? And who would we choose?”

 

“Non-essential castle staff at first, servants and so on, your men will have to deal with making their own beds for a while. The prisoners as well, they serve no purpose and use up food.” The old man’s voice was grim. “Hopefully the presence of Riverlands nobles will induce Lord Vypren to let them through his lines, but if not, then they will die out there. It is as simple as that. If only the cooks and your soldiers stay, then I calculate our supplies will last us two moons at a stretch.”

“Two moons.” Ser Jon’s voice was thoughtful. “That might buy enough time for Lord Tywin to finish with the Tullys. Thank you, that will be all, maester.”

 

The grey-robed man bowed and left, leaving the Bettley knight to resume his journey. Boots clicking on the stone, he strode angrily towards the walls, only for one of his men, a boy really, to come running at the sight of him.

 

“Ser, Ser, you have to come see this. I don’t...I can’t…”

 

“Calm down, boy.” Ser Jon sighed. “What is wrong?”

 

“I…” The boy was stammering now, and curiously, Ser Jon decided to climb the walls and see for himself. After all, the last moon had been deadly dull, anything that had the boy so flustered would certainly be interesting enough to break the monotony. Smiling slightly to himself at the energy of the young as the boy ran off ahead of him, Ser Jon climbed the stairs up the tower, and exited onto the wall. Hand shaking, the boy pointed at the distance, and Jon frowned.  At first it seemed that he was looking at nothing, but when he squinted, he could see small coloured smudges, drawing ever closer.

 

“Do you see, Ser?”

 

“Faint colours, but too far away to make out. Can you see them clearly?”

 

The boy nodded, jerkily. “Enough to make ‘em out, Ser.”

 

_ You must have the eyes of a hawk then, boy.  _ Jon tapped his foot impatiently. “So whose banners are they, then?”

 

The boy was silent for a moment, before Jon grasped his shoulder with a gauntleted fist, applying just enough pressure for the boy to feel it. “Whose?”

 

With a gulp, the boy mustered his courage and turned to look Ser Jon in the eyes. “Not ours, Ser.”

 

Jon Bettley clenched the fist of his free hand around his sword hilt, releasing the boy. “Tell me.”

 

Nervous, the boy nodded, shielding his eyes against the sun.  “I see the Tully trout and the Stark direwolf. Then there’s the Frey bridge, the Mallister eagle, a merman and a giant, a red man on pink and a pink woman on blue. That’s all I can make out right now Ser, but they’ve got lots of men, thousands, mayhaps even tens of thousands.”

 

Unable to respond, Ser Jon Bettley was speechless for moments, before his mouth caught up with his mind. “Fuck”.

 

_ Tully, Stark, Frey, Mallister, Manderly, Umber, Bolton and Piper. Many of the most powerful Houses of the North and the Trident. Not only are the Riverlords here looking for vengeance, but it seems the Starks have joined them as well.  _

 

He watched, silent for moments, as they drew closer, until he could make out many of the banners more clearly. Besides the direwolf and the trout, impossible for the boy to see due to his height, flew a banner bearing a grey dolphin, the sigil of Edmure Tully’s sister. Ser Jon’s mouth opened in shock; the last time he’d seen that banner, the Tully girl had been marching west down the River Road towards Riverrun, where he assumed Lord Tywin had smashed her smaller host.

 

More followed behind them, and the full scale of the host now arrayed against them took his breath away as they came into full view. The column was a steel snake, stretching as far over the horizon as the eye could see, and in all likelihood, yet further still. Thousands of knights, tens of thousands of archers, men-at-arms and armsmen. Banners in dozens of colours flew over their heads, giving the impression that the entire power of the North and Riverlands had been directed at Stone Hedge, in all its terrible fury. 

 

The head of the column halted at the road, beginning to spread out and aid the Vyprens in surrounding the castle. From their ranks, a small group of horsemen approached to just out of bowshot of either side, one of them unfurling a rainbow-coloured banner of peace and planting in in the ground.

 

“They want to parley, Ser.” The boy was still shaking, but he held his spear determinedly in a white-knuckled hand. Smiling at the sight, Ser Jon pointed to him. “Then we shall not keep them waiting. Find a peace banner, and then come with me.”

 

“Me, Ser?” the boy squeaked.

 

Still smiling, Ser Jon nodded. “You were the first to spot them, and not drunk or too bored to keep watch like most of our men, so you deserve the honour.”

 

Speechless, the boy ran off and returned soon, waving a seven-coloured banner larger than he was. Ser Jon had their horses ready, and soon they rode forth, a sally port opening to permit them to leave the castle, slamming shut again as soon as they left. Waiting for them, in contrast to their meagre group of two, was a mounted party of five men, and from what he could see of the hair of the remaining two, two women. As he reached them, he gestured, and the boy slammed their banner into the ground as Jon opened his visor.

 

“Greetings, my lords, my ladies. I am Ser Jon of House Bettley, castellan of Stone Hedge in the name of His Grace King Joffrey of the House Baratheon. May I ask who I am addressing?” Jon knew many of them by name and sigil, true, but the formalities must still be observed.

 

All those wearing them removed their helms or pushed up the visors, and Jon raised an eyebrow at the young face revealed under the direwolf helm worn by the lead rider. “Greetings, ser. I am Robb of the House Stark, First of that Name, King of Winter and King in the North.”

 

_ What?  _ Barely managing to keep her surprise from showing, Ser Jon schooled his features carefully. “King in the North? Joffrey of the House Baratheon is Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and is the North not one of the Seven Kingdoms?”

 

“Not any longer.” The young man’s eyes were as steel. “Joffrey put my father in chains, the North no longer recognises the authority of the Iron Throne.” Ser Jon jerked back as if struck. This was bad. House Tully kidnapping the Imp was one thing, but it could be dealt with by the Crown. The North rebelling however, could very well lead to another Robert’s Rebellion. While Jon tried to gather his thoughts, the young King continued to speak.

 

“In any case, allow me to introduce my companions. My lady mother, Catelyn of the House Stark, Lady of Winterfell. Her sister, Alyssa of the House Tully, Lady of Riverhold and Hand of the King to Ser Edmure of the House Tully, First of His Name and King of the Trident. Brynden of the House Tully, also known as the Blackfish, Master at Arms of Riverhold. Roose of the House Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort. Lucias of House Vypren, Lord of Greenwater Bound and the last should look familiar to many watching. Jonos of the House Bracken, Lord of Stone Hedge.”

 

_ What?  _ Ser Jon’s mind whirled frantically. This was worse than bad. At need, his men could beat off attacks from even a host this size for hours. Lord Jonos’ presence, however, would inspire defiance from his former staff, and it would only take one disgruntled maid to leave a sally port or a postern gate open before the castle was lost without a fight. “You called for this parley, Lord Robb. It is for you to speak.”

 

“King Robb. My nephew is King in the North”. The voice had come from the Stark boy’s right, and turning, Ser Jon found himself eye to eye with Alyssa Tully herself, the source of so many of his problems over the past moon.

 

“He is not my King, my lady. House Bettley recognises only one true King, the King on the Iron Throne. Have the Riverlands joined with the North then?”

 

A firm shake of her head was his answer. “We call neither Stark, nor Lannister, nor Baratheon our King. The Riverlands answer only to the King of the Trident!” The last part was shouted, and answering shouts came from the armsmen in the distance.

 

_ Worse and worse. Two Kingdoms in open war against the Westerlands, and open rebellion against the Iron Throne. Gods, if the Arryns get involved, we won’t stand a chance.  _ “And what business have you here?”

 

Alyssa Tully shook her head impatiently. “Let’s not waste either of our time, Ser. We have over thirty thousand men here. I know not exactly how many you have, but it’s nowhere near that. If we storm the walls, your men could kill twenty of ours for every one of yours who falls and you’d still lose the castle.”

 

Defiantly, Ser Jon drew himself up. His position may be hopeless, but there was no need to let her know that, and if he could bluff successfully, he could negotiate from a stronger position and reach fairer terms for himself and his men. “You may take back this castle, but you will bleed in doing so. We have the walls and more than enough men to hold them.”

 

She barely blinked, but Jon knew he had struck a solid blow. “Then we won’t storm the walls. We’ll close off the road, keep the castle surrounded and wait for your men to starve. When we finally come in to claim it, only corpses will man the walls.”

 

“We have supplies sufficient for moons.” Another lie, but the Seven only forbade violence at a parley, not untruths, and besides, it wasn’t as if this woman had any cause to complain considering her own actions.

 

Unfortunately, it was a hollow, brittle lie and she shattered it instantly. “No, ser, you don’t. Lord Vypren has informed me that you resorted to foraging early in his siege, and now unless you can eat dirt, that course is closed to you.” A look at the bare fields drove her words home, and with a sigh, Ser Jon tipped his head, acknowledging her point.

 

“Still, we have more than you. Even if you forage the nearby area, you can’t long feed a host of over thirty thousand. Not to mention that you won’t have the time to starve us out.” Ser Jon did his best to appear confident and threatening. “Any day now, Riverrun will fall and Lord Tywin’s men will return to Stone Hedge to deliver their prisoners. When the scouts see that we are under siege, they will report to Lord Tywin and he’ll come here with his army to break it.”  _ Although he might not be able to, by my estimate, you have twice his strength now. _

 

Ser Jon expected many things, but for Brynden Tully to give a short bark of laughter was not one of them. “Ha! Lord Tywin? Last time we saw him, the old lion was retreating west down the River Road, tail between his legs. We struck at his camps in the night, and before he knew it, he’d lost. Lord Tywin fled west with not even ten thousand remaining, he’ll be no help to you.”

 

Ser Jon couldn’t hide his dismay at that. As much as he wanted to tell himself that it was only a lie, it explained why Lord Tywin had not been heard from since the siege began. 

 

Alyssa Tully’s lips curved into a cruel smirk at his reaction to her uncle’s words. “So. Let’s look at your situation, shall we, Ser Jon? Lord Tywin is in full retreat and in no condition to give you aid now or for the foreseeable future. Ser Jaime’s host has been destroyed, and he himself is a prisoner in Riverrun’s dungeon. The Mountain is dead, his head being fitted for a spike at Riverrun. Raventree Hall is ours again, retaken by the Northern host on its way south. The war in the Riverlands is over, and you’ve lost.”

 

Her words rang true, crushing Ser Jon’s already fragile hopes, but he made one last attempt to improve his bargaining position. “This war is not over. Lord Tywin will be raising a new host at Casterly Rock, soon he’ll return and sweep through the Riverlands. Not to mention Lorch and Hoat; you’ll have to deal with them soon or lose the confidence of your father’s people for failing to protect them.”

 

Brutally, she destroyed his last flicker of hope. “Lorch’s men reave my lands, true, for now. As soon as we are done here, our host marches west to deal with them, and then to the Westerlands, to repay Lord Tywin’s actions here. We do not have the time to waste waiting for you to starve, so do us both a favour and yield.”

 

With a deep sigh, Ser Jon hung his head in defeat. “What terms do you offer then?”

 

Lady Alyssa straightened, her posture displaying total seriousness now. “Your men will stand down and open the gates. They will surrender their weapons and armour, and be permitted to return to the Golden Tooth, provided that the castle is intact when we enter. That means not looted, burned, and no putting any prisoners to the sword. If these conditions are met, then they will have an armed escort them take under flag of truce to the Golden Tooth. The roads are dangerous these days, and they may need protection from bandits. I swear on my honor, that your men will be allowed to leave unharmed if you comply.”

 

Unable to help himself, Ser Jon started laughing at the sheer audacity of her statement. “On your honor?” Her eyes narrowed, as if she had the right to be offended, and Ser Jon’s laughter stopped. “You have no honor.”

 

“How dare you…” she began, hand reaching automatically for the hilt of the sword at her side, the sword she’d stolen from Ser Jaime, before she remembered where she was and checked herself.

 

“How dare I speak the truth?” He cut her off before she could speak again, patience now exhausted. “We know how you defeated Ser Jaime. You violated a parley, and murdered Willem Lannister with the very symbol of peace. You disgraced the Seven, your House and yourself. You have no honor, and nothing you say can be believed, Trucebreaker!”

 

Her fists clenched, and her chest visibly moved. “I did not.” she spat at length through gritted teeth. “The Kingslayer brought no peace banner, the only one there was mine. When I took it down the parley ended. I did not break the truce.”

 

“It doesn’t matter” Ser Jon’s eyes were defiant, and as she went to speak again, he cut her off abruptly, “Your actions were dishonourable, and I refuse to deal with a dishonourable woman. However” he glanced over at Robb. “Lord Eddard’s honor is legendary throughout the realm, and I have no doubt he instilled this quality in his son. If Lord Robb promises us safe conduct, then I will yield the castle.”

 

Uncomfortably, Robb glanced at his aunt, her eyes burning with silent rage, before he nodded. “On the honor of House Stark, I swear it.”

 

Ser Jon’s shoulders slumped in relief, and reaching to his waist, he unbuckled his swordbelt, before handing the sheathed weapon to Robb. Gravely, he took it, before handing it to a soldier. Turning, the Bettley knight waved to the boy on the wall and shouted a command. The garrison knew how important Stone Hedge was for Lord Tywin’s campaign, and the weeks of boredom had only hardened their resolve not to yield the castle, so that those weeks might not have been for nothing. Wine-sodden and groggy, their first reaction upon hearing that Ser Jon had yielded the castle was denial, followed by a refusal to surrender. After looking through the open sally port, however, and seeing the sheer numbers arrayed against them, even the most stubborn holdouts were forced to admit that their cause was doomed. Amidst groans and curses, the hungry, bored garrison of Stone Hedge agreed to surrender.

 

Soon the gates were opening, and a steady stream of men wearing the Lannister lion and Bettley beetle on shield and surcoat marched slowly forward, each casting down his arms; adding to the steadily growing pile of discarded swords, shields and spears next to Robb. The disarmed men were swiftly bound and herded away, to be kept under guard by a group of Stark men, Robb having volunteered his own bannermen for the task before the Tullys could, knowing that after that insult to the Lady Hand, the Rivermen were not likely to treat the prisoners with kindness.

 

As for Ser Jon himself, out of respect to his rank, he had not been bound or guarded, though his sword had not yet been returned. Cautiously, knowing that the fate of his men and himself depended on his actions, he led the group of Riverlands and Northern nobles through Stone Hedge. When he reached the dungeons, he struggled slightly with the rusted lock, before the Bettley knight managed to open the door. 

 

Gasps of shock came from behind him, as he knew they would at the sight of the captives; Riverlands nobles taken at Riverrun and held here by Lord Tywin, but one particular man, rising slowly from where he was slumped against the wall of his cell, caused Lord Jonos, silent until now as he examined the state of his seat, to break his silence with a curse.

 

“Fuck me. Blackwood?”

 

Face bloodied, hooked nose at a wrong angle and clearly broken, Tytos Blackwood looked up into the light and grinned defiantly.

 

“Hello Jonos.”


	34. Raven in the Stables

Head shaking in disbelief, the Lord of Stone Hedge looked up at the roof in wonder. “Lord fucking Blackwood in my dungeon and I’m letting him go, my father must be turning in his grave.”

 

In response, Tytos Blackwood laughed bitterly. “As mine would for me ending up in here.” Before he could continue, Lord Tytos spotted Alyssa standing in the doorway of his cell, and his bloodied face broke into a smile. 

 

“Lady Alyssa. What are you doing here?”

 

Alyssa’s face softened somewhat. “Let’s get you and the others cleaned up and fed, Lord Tytos, then I’ll explain everything.”

 

Lord Jonos had the maids draw the men baths, and when they emerged, they found a surprise waiting for them. Ser Jon had shown Alyssa where the captured men’s arms and armor were kept, and so when they returned, they were attired as befit their rank. With only one thing left, Lord Tytos groaned in pain as the maester moved his nose back into place and bandaged it.

 

Lord Bracken had set the servants swiftly to work, and the Great Hall was already cleared of any sign of the Lannister occupation. Lord Vypren had come in from his siege lines, and the remainder of the lords accompanying the army were present as well, in an arrangement similar to that at Riverrun. The Riverlords were seated to the right of the great chair, while the Northmen took the left. Lord Bracken himself looked longingly at his high seat, before gesturing to Alyssa. “Many here wish to hear your words, my lady, and when speaking from that chair, all the hall can hear you.”

 

With a grateful smile, Alyssa bowed her head to Lord Jonos before ascending the dais and sinking into the high chair of the Brackens. Lord Jonos himself took a seat at Ser Brynden’s right hand, near the head of the Riverlords table. With a deep breath, Alyssa looked up and recounted the events that had taken place underneath the walls of Riverhold. 

 

Nodding gratefully to a servant who brought her a glass of water as she finished speaking, Alyssa sipped, then jerked her head to glance at the Northern table as her nephew rose sharply to his feet.

 

“So it is true then?” Robb looked almost unable to restrain his rage. “I thought Ser Jon may have been stretching the truth, but you say you truly killed a squire during a parley?”

 

The Northmen roared in rage, and even many of the Riverlords faces hardened at this. Realizing she had to reply swiftly, Alyssa rose from her seat. “There is no dishonor in foul actions taken against those who have done foul deeds to you.”

 

Angry looks turned to confusion, and Alyssa was quick to capitalise on the opportunity. “Lord Tywin swore an oath to me when I gave him Red Rain. An oath he broke by sending the Kingslayer to take my castle. And the Kingslayer himself ended the parley; he gave me a day to consider my options, and told me to return the banner if I was determined to fight. That’s exactly what I did.” She smirked at the memory of Jaime Lannister’s rage-filled eyes. “It is not my fault that he failed to tell me how he wished it returned.”

 

There were murmurs at that, as many looked uncomfortable at that sort of logic, but the sound of wood scraping on stone cut through the arguments as  Lord Vypren pushed back his chair and stood, face suffused with anger. “You told me you captured the Kingslayer, you didn’t tell me you murdered a boy because you were afraid to face him. If I’d known…” His fist clenched around the hilt of his sword, and he moved as if to draw it, before freezing.

 

A look downwards revealed the blade of a dirk caressing his throat, held in the hand of Brynden Tully, leaning across the table near effortlessly. “You would have what, my lord?” The Blackfish’s smoky voice promised death for a wrong answer. “Would you have refused my niece’s call, defied my brother’s heir, your lord’s heir, in a time of war?”

 

Lord Vypren choked on the answer at the tip of his tongue, and even his fellow Riverlords glared at him for that. Though grateful their stares were no longer aimed at her, Alyssa’s reprieve was short-lived as Rickard Karstark fixed his scornful gaze on her.

 

“While Vypren may have been...careless in the way he said it, my lady, he was right. You might not have condemned yourself in the eyes of the gods, but in the eyes of men, your actions were despicable.”

 

“Aye!” The Greatjon’s approving shout seemed to shake the rafters. “If you were so afraid of the Kingslayer, then you could have let us handle him. I’d love a chance to crack that pretty head of his”. Adding action to words, the Lord of the Last Hearth pounded his fist on the table, resulting in a crack of wood and a tilt in the table as one of the legs gave way. Sheepishly, Lord Umber sank into his seat amidst Lord Jonos’ unamused glares.

 

“And what would you have us do, Lord Umber?” Freshly freed from the dungeon, the weeping willow of his House on his breastplate still stained with dried blood, Lord Ryger’s voice remained strong even as he wavered. Hands reached out on either side of him, Lord Vypren and Lord Goodbrook supporting him as he stood.  “Just wait until you arrived? What were we to do, let the Lannisters burn our crops, kill our people, take our seats so you can take the Kingslayer man to man?”

 

Head sinking, and swaying on his feet, Lord Ryger sighed. “I don’t condone what Lady Alyssa did. But at the same time, I can’t disapprove of it, as I’d still be in a dungeon if she had not done so. As would Lord Goodbrook, and you Lord Blackwood.” The two named men lowered their heads in shame, and many of Alyssa’s most vocal detractors began muttering amongst themselves. 

 

Seeing that his support was beginning to dwindle, Lord Umber tried to swing the momentum back again. “You don’t know that, Ryger. If she gave the Blackfish or Lord Mallister the command, they might’ve beaten those fucking Lannisters back without shaming themselves and their names.”

 

“No, they wouldn’t”. The voice was quiet, and measured, and Alyssa’s instinctive leap from her chair to throttle Lord Umber was checked before it could begin as all eyes turned to the speaker. Silent until now, ice-eyed Roose Bolton’s pale mouth barely seemed to move as he spoke. “Don’t play the fool, Lord Umber, you heard Lady Alyssa’s tale as we all did. Outnumbered more than two to one, against the finest troops the Lannisters could bring, to fight a conventional battle would have been folly, and led only to defeat.” 

 

The Greatjon’s mouth fell open, and smoothly, Lord Bolton continued as if he had never been interrupted. “Fighting with honour would have led to the Tully army being smashed, the Riverlands being overrun and two Lannister armies waiting for us at Riverrun. Lady Alyssa would be the Lannisters prisoner, forcing Lord Hoster to avoid battle with them under threat of her life. With the Tullys subdued and our forces still on the other side of the Neck, Cersei Lannister would no longer need fear our revenge, and Lord Eddard’s head would adorn a spike atop the Traitor’s Walk.”

Lord Umber drew breath to shout back, only for the gruff voice of Maege Mormont to interrupt him. “We could keep this up all day, Lord Umber, but personally, I’d like to hear what the woman has to say for herself.”

 

“Thank you, Lady Mormont.” Alyssa’s grateful smile was answered by a raised eyebrow, and swallowing, Alyssa realised that Lady Maege might not be on her side after all. Glancing around nervously, she swallowed as she tried to think words that wouldn’t end in her blood staining Stone Hedge’s floors; they’d had no bread and salt yet.

 

“When I heard the Kingslayer was marching from Casterly Rock, my first thought was as yours, Lord Umber. Meet him in battle, crush his army and defend the Riverlands as was my sworn duty. But as Lord Bolton said, that would have been the height of idiocy, and as soon as Ser Brynden reported the enemy numbers, I abandoned that plan.”

 

“What course, Lord Umber, should I have then taken? I lacked the numbers to meet him in the field, and I couldn’t block the pass and stop them bringing their numbers to bear, the land near the mouth is flat and nearly indefensible. The smart thing, I suppose, would be to retreat to Riverrun, join my strength to Edmure’s but then what?” Her mouth was set into a firm line. “True, the rivers would be between us and the Lannisters, but what of my people, my lands? Not to mention those of Lord Piper, Lord Vance and every other lord south of the Tumblestone.”

 

Taking a breath, Alyssa shook her head in refusal of her own suggestion. “Not that retreat was an option anyway. Edmure gave me a direct order to hold the River Road, refusal would have been treason. I thought long and hard before I came up with the strategy I did.” Her head sank and her voice was quiet. “I know full well the price of my actions Lord Umber, and I took no joy in it.” 

 

She jerked her head upright and glared at him, eyes seemingly aflame. “But I would do it again. When I took my oath as Warden of the Western Hills, I swore to protect the people of the Riverlands no matter the cost. Now, I think I finally understand what my lord father meant. My life, my blood and sweat, these are easy to lay down. My honour, and that of my family, are another matter, but even they pale when compared to the lives of those under my protection and the safety of my lands. Can none of you say you would not do the same?” She finished defiantly, and glanced around the room for their reactions.

 

Her nephew’s glare remained unchanged, along with the Greatjon’s, both convinced that nothing justified her actions. Roose Bolton, on the other hand, was nodding in quiet approval. Rickard Karstark’s opinion seemed to match that of his kinsman, while Medger Cerwyn and Halys Hornwood seemed undecided. The brothers Wendel and Wylis Manderly were unafraid to display their disapproval, while Maege Mormont was equally unafraid to show her approval. “If it had been my daughters under threat instead of your brother” she said, clapping Alyssa on the back as she descended the dais, “I would have done the same.” The gruff woman favoured Alyssa with a slight smile, a true smile, this time, and Alyssa smiled back, understanding she had at least one ally. Galbart Glover and Helman Tallhart remained silent, but the looks on their faces showed that they felt the same.

 

As for the Riverlords, they too appeared divided. Ryman Frey, while visibly confused by half the words said, appeared uncaring, reinforcing in the minds of many the opinion that Freys were honorless bastards who cared only for wealth. The word ‘treacherous’ was normally added on to that, but their aid against the Lannisters had taken a step towards reducing that reputation. Brynden Tully showed none of his feelings; even if he did disapprove of Alyssa’s actions he would mention it in private, not willing to weaken her position by disagreeing with her in front of the nobles.  

 

Clement Piper and Karyl Vance, men who had been with her and whose father had died in that battle respectively, had known what she had done already, and accepted it as necessary. The fact that their seats and lands had been saved by it likely helped with that. Lord Bracken was happy to have his castle back, and unwilling to say a word against the woman who’d helped him reclaim it, while Lord Ryger was grateful to be free of the dungeons.

 

However, that was where her support among the Riverlords ended. Lord Goodbrook had never been friendly with House Tully, and even though her actions had freed him from his prison, Lord Lymond was anything but grateful. “If I’d known the price of my freedom” he’d spat at her, eyes showing nothing but contempt “I would rather have rotted in that prison than be freed through dishonor.” Tytos Blackwood, while also pleased to be free and have his castle back, owed gratitude both to Alyssa, who’d freed him and the Northmen, who’d reclaimed it. Not to mention his House’s feud with the Brackens, he refused on principle to agree with a Bracken for anything not a sure thing, so he remained quietly neutral. So did Ser Patrek Mallister, the heir to Seagard standing in place of his wounded father. Halmon Paege disapproved of Alyssa’s taking command of the Tully forces in the first place, insisting that the Blackfish was more experienced and could have found another way.

 

However, the only truly angry man in the room was Lucias Vypren. The Lord of Greenwater Bound was staring at Alyssa as if his eyes were spears that could run her through. Ser Damon wasn’t much better, fists clenched on the table in front of him. “You lied to me in my own hall!” Lord Lucias could contain himself no longer. “You said you defeated the Kingslayer, it was Ser Brynden who did it!” 

 

“I did defeat the Kingslayer.” Alyssa’s voice was calm, yet held a cold undertone. “My army smashed his, I defeated him on the field of battle. I might not have bested him in single combat, but in my mind that’s a defeat.”

 

“Why didn’t you just say that, my lady?” Ser Damon’s anger had subsided somewhat, and he was more cool-headed than Lord Lucias. “My lord father would surely have understood”.

 

“Because quite frankly, Ser Damon, I didn’t care what your father thought.”

 

“What?” Lord Lucias exploded out of his chair in rage, but froze in place when Alyssa turned her eyes on him. Not the blue pools they usually were, or even the chips of ice of her anger, they seemed to be blazing with sapphire flames, and when she spoke, her voice was the coldest it had ever been, even Brynden shivering.

 

“And why, my lord, may I ask, were we having that conversation in the first place?”

 

“You wanted my men.”

 

“Yes, my lord. I went to Greenwater to call you to war, because you refused my brother when he called. That is treason, my lord.” Her voice was scornful. “You didn’t deserve the truth from me, you were a traitor who deserved nothing more than to hang for his treason. You still breathe because I needed your men and to storm your castle would have taken too many lives.” Her mouth curved into a cruel smile. “Besides that, what difference would your knowing have made? Would you have refused had I told you the truth, my lord?” Her voice promised blood for a wrong answer, and nearly every eye in the room was fixed firmly on the elder Vypren as they waited for his response. 

 

“Of course not, my lady.” Not a stupid man, Lord Lucias gave the only reply that would keep his head attached to his neck.

 

“Then it matters not, does it?” The cruel smile turned sweet, and Lord Vypren grudgingly nodded, along with his son. That nod seemed to dispel the tension hanging over the room as hands hovered near sword hilts, and many servants breathed freely again. Now that the hall was at peace once again, Alyssa resumed her story, telling of her ride across the Riverlands, and then of the fighting at the Camps and in the woods on the bank of the Red Fork. When she was done, Lord Blackwood blew out a long breath. “You have been busy, my lady. I have missed much.”

 

“Not just you”. The Greatjon was frowning at the thought of all those battles he’d missed out on. “Sounds like Lady Alyssa’s been havin’ all the fun while we’ve been marchin’ down here for nothin’.

 

“That will change now” Lord Blackwood looked over the table at Alyssa, his hooked nose pointing at the floor.  “What is to be our next move, my lady?” 

 

“Now that Stone Hedge is back in our control, the Lannisters have no base left in the Riverlands.” Alyssa smiled, and though a dolphin was on her cloak, those who saw her teeth could have sworn she was a wolf. “Now there’s nothing left to keep us from marching on the Westerlands and repaying the Lannisters in kind. Tomorrow, we return to Riverrun, to prepare for our march west.” 

 

“Gladly, my lady.” Lord Bracken’s face was hard. “I owe those bastards for taking my castle from me.”

 

Alyssa sighed to herself. She’d known this moment was coming, but saw no way to avoid it. “You’re not coming with us, Lord Bracken. Neither is Lord Blackwood, or Lord Ryger, or Lord Goodbrook.”

 

“What?” “My lady, why?” The calls from the mentioned men grew louder, as they expressed their displeasure at her decision. Sharply, Alyssa raised her hand for quiet and the shouts died down.

 

“How many fighting men do you have left, Lord Blackwood? One hundred? Two? Your host died fighting for my brother, as did the others I mentioned. Raventree’s garrison yet lives, true, but they cannot take the field lest the castle be left vulnerable again. What does that leave? Green boys and old men, that’s what you’d be leading to war, Lord Tytos. And how many of those could you call upon, truthfully?”

 

There was silence for a moment, until Lord Tytos sighed. “Truthfully, my lady? Four hundred, at best.” 

 

“Four hundred.” Alyssa’s tone left no room for debate. “Four hundred untrained boys and men so old the march may kill them, they’ll be cut down their first battle. No use to us.” Her eyes softened as she glanced sympathetically at the Lord of Raventree. “Like it or not, Lord Tytos, House Blackwood’s usefulness in this war has ended. Those men would be better served in your fields than on the field. The same goes for you, Lord Goodbrook, and you, Lord Ryger. And as for you, Lord Jonos, you don’t even have a garrison left, you’ll need every man just to hold this castle.” She turned her gaze to each of the men, one by one. “Return to your homes, my lords. Gather your crops and hold your castles in my lord father’s name. When we march west, you’ll be the only thing between the Riverlands and invasion.”

 

Lord Bracken clenched his fist for a moment, teeth clenched, before he abruptly relaxed and sighed. “As much as I hate to admit it, you’re right. Have no fear my lady, they’ll not take Stone Hedge from me twice.”

 

Alyssa nodded, before raising her voice to address the hall. “As for the rest of us, once we return to Riverrun, we’ll be marching down the River Road to Riverhold, and then to the Golden Tooth. Once we smash whatever tiny host Tywin has guarding the pass, the Westerlands will be open to us.” She bared her teeth in a grin. “So get some rest, my lords, for tomorrow begins the end of House Lannister!”

 

Cheers filled the hall, and on that note, Alyssa yielded Lord Bracken’s chair and headed to bed.


	35. An Offer of Peace

Adjusting the Hand’s pin on his chest, Tyrion Lannister was breathing hard as he waddled as quickly as his short legs could carry him towards the Small Council chambers. He’d been with Shae when Bronn burst in, telling him that a large group of knights was riding towards the city with a peace banner. While Bronn knew barely anything about sigils, he had sharp eyes and the details he had remembered told Tyrion that nearly every powerful House of the North and the Trident was represented. Puffing, he at last reached the Valyrian sphinxes that guarded the doors of the Small Council’s meeting place, before Bronn opened them for him and he hurried in.

 

To his dismay, but not surprise, he was the last to arrive. Cersei was tapping her foot impatiently as she waited for him, the only sign of her impatience. Hastily, Tyrion moved to his chair and with a bit of a struggle, climbed into it. Cersei nodded to one of the Kingsguard, his closed helm making Tyrion unable to tell which one, and he left the room along with a group of red-cloaked Lannister guards.

 

For a moment, the entire room was silent, before Tyrion’s own patience, already stressed by the long hasty walk, snapped. “So, sweet sister, am I ever going to find out why this meeting was called, or are we to play guessing games as we did when we were children?”

 

Cersei breathed out through her nose, composing herself and biting off the instinctive retort, before she responded. “An envoy has arrived from Riverrun, under banner of parley.”

 

“And?”

 

Before she could respond, the doors opened again, and the guards escorted in a man carrying a sealed scroll. Instantly, Tyrion could see why Cersei had called him here with all haste as his eyes fell upon his cousin. The son of Emmon Frey and Genna Lannister, Tyrion’s aunt, Ser Cleos had inherited all the weasel-like qualities; both in appearance and demeanour of his father’s side while receiving nothing from his mother’s.

 

Cersei put on her warmest smile and tilted her head slightly to welcome him. “Cousin. It is good to see you. Have you escaped the Tullys?”

 

Even if he hadn’t already known the answer, Tyrion knew it would be a no. The chance of his cowardly cousin escaping the Tully fortress, stealing a horse and riding halfway across Westeros without being caught or killed in a journey of three weeks was as likely as his lord father apologising to the Reynes for drowning them in their own halls.

 

“I have not, Your Grace. They released me, only on condition of my swearing on my honor to return and resume my captivity once I had given you this.” He handed the scroll to the Kingsguard, who silently moved around the table and placed it in front of Cersei.

 

“What is it?” His sister had not touched it yet, as if she was unsure whether or not she wanted to read it.

 

“An offer of peace, Your Grace.” Ser Cleos seemed excited at the thought, as was natural; peace would free him from his imprisonment all the sooner. “The Starks and Tullys say that if you meet the terms contained within, they will call off their hosts and put an end to the fighting.”

 

Tyrion frowned, after his father’s actions in the Riverlands, it wouldn’t be too easy as all that. “And what are these terms, coz?”

 

Ser Cleos sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I know not, my lord Hand. I was told that the contents of the scroll were for Her Grace’s eyes only, and that the terms were none of my concern.”

 

Pursing her lips at the disrespect to her kin, Cersei took the scroll, broke the seal with a knife from the table, unrolled it with a flick of her wrist and began to read aloud for the benefit of the Small Council.

 

“First, Queen Cersei Lannister shall release Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, Sansa Stark and Arya Stark and provide them with an escort safely to Riverrun. The false charges of treason against Lord Eddard are to be dismissed, and Sansa’s betrothal to Joffrey Baratheon is to be ended. Once they reach Riverrun, the Starks and Tullys will release all prisoners they hold, save for Jaime Lannister, who will remain prisoner at Riverrun, hostage to his father’s good conduct.”

 

Cersei snorted. “So Robb Stark wants his father and his sisters back, but refuses to return my brother?” Shaking her head disdainfully, she returned to the scroll.

 

“Second, the bones of Lord Eddard’s household are to be returned to Winterfell, so they may rest in the North with their kin. Once this is done, the bones of those Western nobles who fell in battle with Houses Stark and Tully will be returned to their families, to be laid to rest according to their family customs.” Cersei broke off again, disbelief showing on her beautiful face. “Do the Starks expect that we have the bodies of common soldiers simply lying around waiting to be claimed?”

 

Frustrated with his sister’s dramatics, Tyrion made to take the paper from her, only for her to lift it out of his reach and keep reading.

 

“Third, the greatsword Ice will be delivered to the hand of Robb Stark at Riverrun. Once this is done, the envoy will be presented with the longsword Bloodclaw, and given safe passage through the Riverlands and an escort to deliver it to Lord Tywin to Casterly Rock should one be required.”

 

“Lord Eddard’s sword for Ser Jaime’s”, Varys said, his soft voice lingering in the quiet room. “Far more reasonable than their other demands so far.”

 

Cersei rolled her eyes in lieu of response and kept reading. “Fourth, the Crown will immediately restore the lands, titles and incomes of Harrenhal to House Whent. Harrenhal is Lady Shella Whent’s rightful seat, and the Crown must…” the words caught in her throat, and Tyrion saw her face turn red before she simply tore the parchment in two and tossed the pieces aside. Intrigued now, Tyrion got down from his chair and took the closest piece, while Lord Varys quietly picked up the other. Retaking his seat, Tyrion unrolled the paper to the point where she had left off, and could immediately see what had his sister speechless in rage.

 

“The Crown must apologise for stripping her of her rights and granting them to a butcher’s son.” Cersei’s fists were clenched, and Tyrion was barely able to contain his mirth at the thought of Joffrey’s reaction to the Tullys demand that he apologise to an old woman. Controlling his face with an effort, he continued.

 

“Fifth, Lord Tywin Lannister will…” Tyrion trailed off as he stopped and read the passage again slowly, ensuring that he had not misunderstood. Cersei was now glaring at him, and he decided the safest move was to get on with it and finish as quickly as possible. “Lord Tywin Lannister will appear at Riverrun not more than a moon’s turn after the signing of this pact and make apology in front of the Lords of the Trident for his actions against the people of the Riverlands.” 

 

“Outrageous!” Pycelle spluttered. The Grand Maester, usually doddering and slow, was as clear as a young man in his fury. “Lord Tywin is a loyal servant of the Crown, and was acting with his Grace’s permission. To demand that he apologise is to say that his Grace was acting wrongly.”

 

Unable to contain himself any longer, Tyrion burst out in laughter, his small body shaking. If the daggers in Cersei’s stare were real, Tyrion would have been pierced a thousand times over. “You find something amusing about this disrespect, brother?”

 

It took a moment for Tyrion to get his laughter sufficiently under control to enable an answer. “Actually, yes, dear sister. Can you ever imagine Father apologising for anything?” He continued to chuckle, and after a moment, Cersei’s lips curved into a slight smile at the thought of her lord father ever admitting he was wrong.  _  Not even Aegon’s dragons would make that happen. _

 

Even Pycelle could see the humor, and after a few moments to regain their composure, the Small Council had controlled their mirth and Cersei waved a hand for Tyrion to continue.

 

“Sixth, in reparations for the damage done to the Riverlands during this war, House Lannister will pay House Tully one million gold dragons, in a manner to be mutually agreed upon”.

 

“A million? That’s a third of what the Crown as a whole owes House Lannister, have the Tullys been planting jewelled crops?” The Master of Coin’s small pointed beard twitched as he chuckled at his own joke.

 

Tyrion went to read on, only to realise that his half of the scroll ended there, and without a word, Varys slid his piece over the table. Tyrion took it with a nod of thanks and resumed.

 

“Seventh, the Westerlands will deliver ten highborn hostages, to be mutually agreed upon, to Riverrun. Five will be sent to Winterfell, while five will remain at Riverrun. House Stark and House Tully will release one of their prisoners each year as long as the terms of this pact are met.”

 

“Hostages, gold and royal apologies?” Littlefinger’s eyes twinkled with mirth. “What, do they want our heads as well?”

 

Ignoring that, as it was uncomfortably reminding Tyrion that these terms were not those you gave when you wanted peace, he kept reading.

 

“Eighth, the Princess Myrcella” Tyrion froze again, staring at Cersei. 

 

His sister’s hands were clenched around the armrests of her chair, fury turning her beautiful face ugly. Not looking at him, she ground out “Keep reading.”

 

Setting his shoulders, and glad of the fact that Bronn was just outside the room, Tyrion forced his tongue into motion. “Princess Myrcella Baratheon shall be escorted to Winterfell and become a ward of House Stark. Her retainers and servants may accompany her, but no more than ten guards.” Tyrion risked a glance sideways, only to see his sister’s nails beginning to gouge lines in the wooden armrest as she clenched it as if it were Robb Stark’s throat. “The princess shall be treated as according to her station, and shall be a guest of House Stark until her sixteenth nameday at which point she shall be returned to King’s Landing. However, as she grows older, both Houses Stark and Baratheon shall keep in mind the possibility of betrothing her to Robb Stark.”

 

“Never! **”** Cersei had found her voice, and now she stood from her chair, blood dripping from her palms where splinters from her armrest had dug into her hands.  **“** My daughter will not be shipped off to that frozen wasteland to be some barbarian’s whore! Never, do you hear me?” 

 

Tyrion thought privately that if Cersei kept bellowing like this, Ser Cleos wouldn’t need to deliver her response, as they’d hear her hundreds of miles away in Riverrun. With no other way of distracting her, he kept reading only to regret that seconds later. His sister already seemed capable of breathing fire, and to pause again would only turn her wrath to him. Cursing the unreasonable Robb Stark and Alyssa Tully, he got on with it.

 

“Ninth, King Joffrey and the Queen Regent shall renounce all claims to dominion over the north. Henceforth we are no part of their realm, but a free and independent kingdom as of old. Our domain shall consist of the Stark lands north of the Neck, the dominion of the Kings of Winter of old. The Queen Regent and her son shall make no claim to taxes, incomes or services from the people of the North, and shall free the lords and knights of the North from all oaths of fealty, vows, pledges, debts and obligations owed to the Iron Throne and the Houses Baratheon and Lannister.” Cersei seemed to be calming down now the subject of Myrcella leaving was off the table, and Tyrion unrolled the scroll fully, reaching the last term.

 

“Tenth, King Joffrey and the Queen Regent shall renounce all claims to dominion over the Riverlands. Henceforth we are no part of their kingdom, but a free and independent Kingdom of the Trident and so on and so forth. Tyrion shook his head in disbelief. “What’s next, do they want the Red Keep too?” He extracted a smaller piece of parchment from the bottom of the scroll, rolled up tightly and tucked next to the roller. “A map is included showing the borders we claim. Lord Tywin must withdraw beyond these borders, and cease his raiding, burning and pillage…” he put the paper down with a sigh “and the rest is more of the same.”

 

A hand abruptly reached over Tyrion’s shoulder and took the torn parchment from him. Voice slightly mocking, his sister read the last few lines on the scroll.

 

“Agree to our terms and we will have peace, refuse and we will litter the Westerlands with Lannister dead. Signed Robb of the House Stark, First Of That Name, Lord of Winterfell and King in the North, and Edmure of the House Tully, First Of That Name, King of the Trident”. 

 

Cersei held out her hand, and Tyrion placed the other piece into it. Taking both in hand, she tore them into so many pieces that Tyrion could never have reassembled them, before tossing the remnants to the ground. Staring around the table, her deadly look dared anyone to suggest agreeing to any of those terms. Unsurprisingly, it was Ser Cleos, unable to take the silence any further, who spoke up first.

 

“What answer shall I take back to Riverrun, Your Grace?”

 

Eyes seemingly aflame, Cersei opened her mouth, only for Tyrion to cut her off sharply. “That those terms are completely unacceptable. The Crown refuses, and warns  _ King  _ Robb and  _ King  _ Edmure that they are completely without allies. Lady Arryn evidently remembers her loyalties, as their own aunt and sister has refused to aid them. Stannis and Renly are occupied fighting each other, and would not aid usurpers in any case.  Tell them that our lord father maintains a strong garrison at the Golden Tooth, which they will find impossible to pass. As to counter terms, we agree only to exchange Bloodclaw for Ice. You’ll take the greatsword with you when you leave.”

 

Relieved, Ser Cleos nodded. “I will, my lord Hand.”

 

Tyrion smiled at his cousin, a plan beginning to come together in his mind. “Take some time to rest and have a good meal, coz. You’ll ride in three days.”

 

“Safe travels, cousin.” Any trace of Cersei’s previous rage was gone, her warmest smile adorning her face. With a bow to Cersei, Ser Cleos left, escorted by the goldcloaks. No sooner had the Kingsguard, revealed to be Mandon Moore as he removed his helm, closed the doors than Cersei’s smile turned to a snarl.

 

“How dare you offer the Starks terms without my consent?”

 

In lieu of answer, Tyrion shifted his eyes around the chamber. “As we appear to be done with Small Council business, may we have the room, my lords? My sister and I need to speak of family matters.”

 

Pycelle looked first to Cersei, who after a long moment, nodded. With bows and respectful farewells, the Grand Maester, Master of Whispers and Master of Coin left the room, leaving only Tyrion, Cersei and Ser Mandon. After a moment, Ser Mandon closed the doors and then moved to the opposite side of the room, giving Tyrion and Cersei as much privacy as Tyrion knew he would get.

 

“Well?” His sister’s patience had clearly run out, as she was all but snarling like a lioness protecting her cubs, clearly having not forgotten the Stark demand to send Myrcella north. “How could you even think of treating with the Starks or Tullys after they gave us such insulting terms? I told you, I am Regent, you are here to advise Joffrey.”

 

“And I said yes.” Tyrion put every ounce of charisma he had into remaining calm and agreeable. “I also said that if you listened to me, we may get Jaime back, and this might just give us an opportunity.” Before his sister could break into another tirade, Tyrion held up his hand. “Not by trading the Starks, I promise you that.”

 

The Lannister sigil may have been a lion, but as Cersei froze in surprise, her mouth already open to scream at him some more, Tyrion thought privately for just a second, that she resembled nothing more than a fish. It lasted only an instant, before her jaw closed with a snap and she blinked. “How then?”

 

Tyrion paused for a moment to gather his thoughts; this would take planning, and luck. “Lord Eddard’s greatsword may seem just a weapon, and a valuable heirloom to the Starks, but to us it is something more. Opportunity. If Lady Arya wasn’t enough, this is a gold-plated key to Riverrun.” He then glanced at Cersei, who still seemed stunned at the direction this conversation was taking. “How many red-cloaks have you in the city at this moment?”

 

“A hundred”; Cersei was regaining control of herself, but visibly confused at to the direction this conversation was taking, “but Father left them here to protect me and the children, they aren’t for fighting.”

 

“It is not their swords I want dear sister, but their cloaks.” Tyrion’s hand rested on his chin for a moment. “But before we continue, Ser Mandon” he addressed the man silently waiting in the corner, “would you ask my friend Bronn to join us? ”

 

“What can your pet sellsword have to do with freeing Jaime? Do you mean to ask him to sneak into Riverrun and smuggle him out single-handed?”

 

“Closer to the mark than you might think, sweet sister” he said playfully, “but you’ll have to wait and see.”

 

Ser Mandon looked to Cersei for consent, and impatient with her brother’s games, she jerked her head. The doors opened, and soon the new commander of the City Watch entered, a title that still filled Cersei with rage at how her brother had replaced her loyal pawns, the barely acceptable bow not helping matters.

 

“Your Grace.” He then turned to her brother. “What do you want?”

 

“Bronn” a smile covered Tyrion’s misshapen face at the sight of the sellsword. “I want you to find some people for me. I need someone good at picking locks, a poisoner, a mummer and a man capable of killing men without weapons, the best in the business of each. Use your contacts, hire others as you need, turn this city upside down if you have to; you have three days.

 

“And what is it I’m hiring ‘em for?”

 

Tyrion’s smile grew wider. “It’s simple. In three days, my dear cousin Ser Cleos leaves for Riverrun. He’ll be carrying Lord Eddard’s greatsword, Ice, to exchange it for Bloodclaw, my father’s sword taken from Jaime by the Tullys. Of course” his face took on a look of false innocence, “since we’ll also be sending Lady Arya back to her mother, she’ll need a proper escort. One man is noticeable, four among a hundred can lose themselves. Put the four in lion helms and crimson cloaks and they’ll be just another among the guards my sweet sister is kindly lending us. They’ll ride to Riverrun flying lion banners and escorting Ice, and be welcomed through the gates.” 

 

His smile grew more sinister, and for a moment, Cersei had to admit to herself that her hated brother was truly her father’s son. “Of course, such a long journey as one to Casterly Rock will require resupply, and they’ll need rest after riding from the capital, something the Tullys can hardly refuse them; provided they surrender their arms. Three days or so after arriving, the poisoner will slip Jaime’s guards something, the lockpick will open his cell, the brute will take care of any who see them on their way to the Water Gate, where the mummer will fool the guards into opening it. From there, it’s a boat down the Red Fork to Lord Harroway’s Town, where they can buy or steal horses, before riding back to King’s Landing.”

 

“And we’ll have Jaime back” his sister’s voice was breathless and hopeful. “That’s brilliant!” Before he could react, she’d swept him up into an embrace and spun around, giddy as a girl for a moment, and just then, he saw what Jaime did in her. 

 

A chuckle broke the silence, and Cersei set him back down as Bronn stepped forward, a smile playing on his lips. “Aye, that’s clever alright, Imp, but risky. The kind of men you want don’t risk their necks for nothin’ and these types; if you give em gold, I promise you they’ll just run off with it.”

 

“So we don’t pay them until the job’s done.” Tyrion looked directly at Cersei, her genuine smile now showing her true beauty. “Dear sister, do you think Joffrey could be convinced to offer lordships and lands to any who succeed in this mission?”

 

“I’ll make sure of it.” His sister’s face showed nothing but determination; this close to having Jaime back, nothing would stop her now.

 

“Good.” He turned to Bronn again. “Father would gladly pay a thousand dragons to each of them, even if he were only told of this afterwards, for now my word should suffice, a Lannister…”

 

“Always pays his debts” Bronn sounded bored now, “yeah, I’ve heard. Well, gold, lands and being made a lord, yeah, that’d convince em.” He seemed almost impressed at the lengths Tyrion was willing to go to. “If you don’t mind, Lord Imp, Your Grace, I’ve a lot of work to do finding these men, not to mention filling in the red-cloaks, so if you…”

 

“No!” The shout came from both brother and sister, and already having turned to go, Bronn glanced over his shoulder, eyebrow raised.

 

“Do not tell the guards about any of this” Tyrion’s voice would brook no disobedience in this matter, but Bronn’s curiousity must have shown, as Cersei decided to enlighten him.

 

“Captain Vylarr is a good fighter, but an honorable fool. If you tell him, he’ll tell his men and a hundred cannot keep a secret. That, or he’ll simply refuse to go. No, as far as the red-cloaks know their only duty is to deliver Ice, then take Bloodclaw to Casterly Rock, understand? Only the four of us must know about this. I’ll tell Joff personally when I can be sure that he’ll keep it secret. Ser Mandon” she now addressed the vigilant Kingsguard, watching Bronn with one hand on his sword hilt, “You are ordered to speak of this to no-one, not even the King, do you understand?”

 

“By your will, Your Grace ”he rumbled, bowing his head.

 

“I’ll keep it close then.” Bronn bowed towards Cersei, winked at Tyrion and left.

 

The doors closed, and Tyrion reached into his pocket, taking out the letter one of his father’s riders had delivered weeks ago. He all but knew it by heart now of course, but right now he was looking for a specific detail, which he found. As he studied the sentence closely, Cersei leaned in, intrigued by her brother’s interest. “What is it?”

 

Tyrion pointed to her father’s words. “Father mentions that Amory Lorch has been burning and reaving Alyssa Tully’s lands with hundreds of men for moons. The Tully forces block their retreat back west or east to the capital, and heading north would be suicide. If I had to place a wager on it, my money would be on them being still there. If they could be found, and regrouped, perhaps they could do more than just annoy the Tullys.”

 

Brother and sister shared a rare smile, and the children of Tywin Lannister smiled at the thought of crushing their enemies.


	36. In the Light of the Seven

Though Alyssa would have preferred to set off immediately, the rescued Lords were too weak for travel; and it took nearly a week of exercise and decent food before they were fit to march. The journey back to Riverrun led the host through Lord Lychester’s former lands, now Alyssa’s, where the remains of his burned and sacked keep could be seen over the other side of the River Road. Even weeks after the act, the smell of burned bodies still drifted on the wind. The Northerners maintained a respectful silence at the sight of the fate of a Noble House, while the Riverlords were simply reminded once more of the debt of vengeance they owed the Lannisters. Even as Alyssa saw the walls of her father’s castle again after nearly a moon’s absence, she clenched her fist at the memory.

 

Maester Vyman had been busy in the weeks they were gone, and Edmure was looking very much on the mend. True to his word, three days before the army had returned to Riverrun, the aged maester had examined Ser Edmure and given her brother approval to resume his duties. While glad that her brother had recovered, Alyssa had enjoyed acting as Lady Paramount, and so it was with mixed feelings that she stepped down and allowed her brother to retake his place as leader of the Riverlands. While Lord Hoster was lawfully still Lord Paramount, both knew that their father would never again be well enough to rule, and the smallfolk and guards were growing accustomed to taking orders from the younger Tullys in his stead.

 

The loss of so much responsibility, however, left Alyssa somewhat at a loss.  With her own lands days away, she was left with large amounts of free time on her hands now that she did not have to hold court each day. She compensated by spending more time in the sparring yard. While her injuries had healed weeks ago, most of her part in the war had been riding across the Riverlands or talking with lords, she hadn’t had a proper fight since the Kingslayer. It wasn’t much, but the moons without practice had left a noticeable mark on her technique, a mark that hours of practice were slowly erasing. 

 

Ser Robin Ryger, the captain of her father’s guards, was glad of a willing sparring partner, and if he was reluctant to hit his lord’s daughter at first, her blunted blade striking between his unprotected legs quickly dispelled that notion. Soon Ser Robin was attacking as earnestly as she was, and knight and lady could often be found out on the field, battling until near exhaustion. Fighting with an unusual aggression, Alyssa’s practice sword slammed into his shoulderplate, and Ser Robin staggered back, hand held up in their agreed upon signal for rest. Dropping his own blade, he reached up and unlatched his helm. Tossing it to the ground, he dropped to his knees, panting for breath as sweat ran down his bald head. “Enough, enough for today my lady. I’m...not as young as I used to be.”

 

While not in nearly as bad shape as Ser Robin, Alyssa was breathing slightly faster and she offered a shallow smile as she pulled off her half-helm. “Then you must have been truly fearsome when you were younger if you fight like this now.”

 

Ser Robin gave a snort that was half amusement and half exhaustion, before the humor in his eyes faded. “You seem troubled, my lady.”

 

Alyssa blew out her breath in frustration. “You could say that, ser. That idiocy of my nephews…”

 

“Yes.” Ser Robin said nothing more, but he knew what she was talking about. Earlier that day; the newly crowned King in the North had announced his intent to ally with the Ironborn to aid in the taking of the Westerlands. To that end, Robb was sending his hostage, Theon Greyjoy, back to the Iron Islands in order to win his father’s support. The announcement had been met with nothing but scorn from the Riverlanders, particularly Ser Patrek Mallister, whose family seat at Seagard was built for the express purpose of holding the Ironborn at bay.

 

They knew, as did many of the more experienced Northmen, what the young Rob did not, that Ironborn respected only strength and their Iron Price. If Theon Greyjoy was to go home bearing a scroll with King Robb’s seal asking his father to join the attack on the Westerlands; it would serve only to inform Lord Balon that the Riverlands and North were defenceless, with their forces elsewhere. Lord Eddard had taken Theon Greyjoy as hostage on behalf of all Westeros, and not only Alyssa and Edmure but many other Riverlords, had pleaded with Robb not to make this decision unilaterally for all of them, but her nephew had remained adamant. Theon was like a brother to him, he claimed, and would prove vital in the downfall of House Lannister. 

 

The very memory had Alyssa hurl her practice sword to the ground in disgust. “It’s worse than you know, Ser Robin. After everyone left the hall, my fool of a king nephew informed Greyjoy that if his father did agree to help us; that he would be given Casterly Rock when the West was taken!”

 

“What?” Ser Robin gasped incredulously. “Give Casterly Rock to those scum? With a base like that and a harbour as good as Lannisport to launch their ships from; the bastards could terrorise the western shores from Bear Island to the Arbor. The days of the Iron Kings would come again; no ship would be safe.” The grizzled old warrior shook his head in despair. “What is the boy thinking?”

 

“That he is his father’s son.” Alyssa’s voice was grave. “He was raised no doubt on the stories of his father’s great friendship with King Robert, and how their alliance brought down the Targaryens. No doubt he thinks of himself and Greyjoy as the next Robert and Lord Eddard.” She clenched her fist in anger. “Even if we do take the Westerlands, Casterly Rock isn’t just his to give away. Our men will have bled to get that far as well; he cannot simply claim it for himself!”

 

“Allied forces never work when it comes to sharing plunder” Ser Robin sagely replied. “Even if we do divide up the West into halves and each side attacks one, Casterly Rock does not split two ways. Eventually a choice must be made, and when that day comes…” he shook his head mournfully. “It will not be a pretty one.”

 

They sat in silence for a moment, until Ser Robin stretched with a yawn. “Well, sitting here talking about it does nothing for us.” He pulled himself to his feet and donned his helm once more. “I should check on my men. The same time tomorrow, my lady?”

 

“I look forward to it, Ser.” Ser Robin departed, and Alyssa hid a smile of pride when she saw him limping slightly, a souvenir of her blow landing home below his knee. Though the sun was sinking quickly, it was too early to sleep yet so she decided to visit her brother. Court was over for the day, and Edmure may appreciate her company. As she entered the Great Hall, the familiar sound of chains clanking caused her to turn, and she saw Maester Vyman hurrying down the hall towards her, robes fluttering in his haste. Edmure rose from the high seat, and she noticed with a smile that his cane was nowhere nearby. “Maester. What is it?”

 

The old man halted in front of her brother, panting from having run all the way from his chambers. “Your Grace... I have good news. Lord Mallister is awake. He asks for you.”

Edmure started for the door, but Alyssa was already running. The Lord of Seagard had been one of her greatest supporters, and she had feared him dead after his duel with the Mountain. Boots almost seeming to glide over the stone, she took the stairs two at once, reaching the maester’s quarters far sooner than she had expected. She had visited occasionally at first, but as the days passed, she came less and less, her confidence in the Lord’s recovery fading. Maester Vyman had told her that blows to the head were strange, and that he may recover suddenly one day or may never at all. His waking now, after a moon, was unlikely but not impossible and certainly not unwelcome. 

 

The few times that she had visited, Lord Jason had been as a man sleeping, lying quietly upon his bed unmoving. Now however, she was astonished to see the Lord of Seagard sitting up, calmly reading. At the sound of her hurried approach, he glanced up, then set aside his book and smiled. “My lady.”

 

“My lord. It’s good to see you well.”

 

Lord Jason’s brow furrowed in thought. “The maester has told me little of the war. Are the Lannisters defeated?”

 

Alyssa’s lips curved into a satisfied smile. “All but, my lord. Lord Tywin fled back to the Westerlands, his host shattered. Even now, we’re preparing to march west and repay the favour.”

 

“And Ser Edmure?”

 

“ _ His Grace _ ” Alyssa’s voice held a tone Lord Jason couldn’t place, “was injured badly when he was unhorsed, but he’s healed well.”

 

“His Grace?” Chains clanking indicated the approach of Maester Vyman, her brother a step behind. At the sight of him, Lord Jason tried to bow, but fell back in pain. “Ser Edmure. How long have I been unconscious?”

 

Her brother smiled sheepishly, running his hand through his beard. “Nearly a moon, Lord Mallister. Much has changed.” As Maester Vyman began to fill the old Lord in about what had transpired while he was abed, Lord Jason’s eyes grew wider and wider.  At last the maester informed him of the retaking of Stone Hedge, and the terms sent with Ser Cleos.

 

Lord Jason struggled to his feet, ignoring Maester Vyman’s exclamations, and lowered himself to his knees. “House Mallister’s strength is yours, now and for all time, Your Grace.”

 

He swayed, and Maester Vyman grabbed him by the arm, the older man showing surprising strength as he dragged Lord Jason back onto his bed. “Ser Patrek already bent the knee to his Grace, my lord, in the name of your House. Now in the name of the Seven, my lord, rest.” 

 

The Lord of Seagard reached vainly for his sword,  which the maester had wisely placed across the room out of reach. “Damned if I’ll rest any longer. I’ve already missed most of the fighting.” 

He tried to climb out of bed, and Alyssa decided to interrupt before he could aggravate his injuries. “Maester, how long before Lord Mallister is fit to take the field again?”

 

Unlike when he spoke about Edmure’s injuries, Maester Vyman was slowly shaking his head. “Moons, my lady. While his wounds have healed, head wounds are dangerous things. All those hits have cracked and weakened Lord Jason’s skull, another blow to the head could kill him. The cracks will slowly close, but it will take weeks at least. Aside from that, his muscles have shrunk and weakened due to disuse, but that can be fixed with time and exercise. If he follows my directions, then he could be walking and moving around as normal within a week.” The old man’s lips set in a firm line. “But if you take the field before your body is ready for it, my lord, then the Stranger will claim you within days, that I can promise you.”

 

Lord Jason fell back onto his bed with a sigh, and Alyssa felt her heart twinge in sympathy. House Mallister was a house of warriors, and Lord Jason in particular was one of the best fighters in the Riverlands; he was not made to simply do nothing.  _ An unjust thing to happen to the man who killed the Mountain, forced to sit and watch as the greatest war since the Rebellion rages.  _

 

Unable to truly console him, she tried to distract him from his thoughts with a reminder of his duty. “You can still aid us, my lord. When we march in a matter of days, we take with us nearly all our forces. What we have left is a few thousand green boys and old men, as well as skeleton castle garrisons. Ride north my lord, take enough men to hold your castle and return to Seagard. Thanks to  _ King  _ Robb, the Ironborn will soon know that we are vulnerable, and if they attack, you’ll be on your own. We won’t be able to send men to Seagard quickly enough, so raise a new host and hold Ironman’s Bay.” Alyssa offered a weak smile. “It does us little good to storm the West only to have those bastards take our homes from us.”

 

Lord Jason nodded slowly, careful to avoid bumping his head against the wall or bed. “As you wish, my lady. I shall leave immediately.”

 

“No!” The source of the shout surprised everyone, Alyssa hadn’t known that the old maester still had that much strength in him. “If you ride, my lord, the bumping and jolting will finish you as surely as the Mountain would have. If you must leave, then mayhaps his Grace can lend you a wheelhouse. With a little time, I can alter it so that your journey is as smooth as possible, and you can leave by first light tomorrow.”

 

Accepting this with a nod, Lord Jason turned his head. “Your Grace?”

 

“No.” Lord Jason’s face fell, and incredulously, Alyssa turned to look at her brother whose face was set. “You cannot leave yet, Lord Mallister, you still have duties here.”

 

Reluctantly, Lord Jason nodded. “What duties, Your Grace?”

 

Suddenly an impish look came over Edmure and the solemn manner he had displayed moments ago was gone. “Why, to attend my wedding of course, my lord.”

 

“Your Grace?”

 

Edmure rubbed a hand through his hair. “In order to secure House Frey’s support, my dear sister promised Lord Walder to try and convince me to marry one of his daughters.”

 

Lord Jason’s eyes narrowed in thought. “So that’s how you got the old weasel to get off his arse.”

 

“Lord Jason” Edmure said with a wince. “If the Freys heard that...we can’t afford to lose them now. I pledged to marry Roslin Frey, but the wedding had to be delayed when I was wounded on the Red Fork. But now that I can walk on my own again, well the Freys have waited long enough. I’ll set Utherydes to organising it for a week’s time, and I’d like you there along with the other lords.”

 

With a nod, Lord Jason indicated his acceptance. “Of course Your Grace, I shall leave for Seagard after the wedding.”

 

Suddenly a gasp escaped Alyssa’s lips and she cursed under her breath as a thought struck her. 

 

“Sister? What’s wrong?”

 

Weakened though he may be, Lord Jason’s eyes were still as sharp as the eagle that was his sigil and his wisdom had not lessened. “I believe, Your Grace” he said with a smile playing upon his lips “that Lady Alyssa has realized that she must now obtain wedding gifts for yourself and Lady Roslin.”

 

Instead of replying, Alyssa hung her head in shame. Her defence of Riverhold had not come without cost; by which she meant monetary. Her lands had no forests or woods; so to obtain the necessary quantities required to set her traps, she had been forced to pay large amounts of coin to have wood brought in from neighbouring lands at short notice. Combined with purchasing the steel to make the caltrops along with vast numbers of arrow heads, and the price of her victory had been nearly every coin in Riverhold’s vaults.

 

Embarrassed by her lack of resources, Alyssa glanced down at the floor, only to feel her brother’s hand placed on her shoulder gently. “Aly” Edmure began, voice and eyes kind as she raised her head. “Without you I wouldn’t have this wedding, or my crown, or in all likelihood, Riverrun. You’ve already given me more than enough.”

 

Composure restored, Alyssa smiled briefly, before turning to Lord Jason and tipping her head in respect. “I should find Utherydes then, and have him start making preparations. My lord Mallister, Edmure.” She smiled at Edmure, before leaving the chamber and heading for the rooms of Riverrun’s steward, who was less than pleased at only having a week to plan a royal wedding. A hail of curses chased Alyssa from the room, as she laughed at the normally calm steward losing control.

 

As it turned out, Lord Jason’s recovery wasn’t the only event of note to happen that week. Near dusk on the sixth day after he had awoken, a large party of men arrived at Riverrun’s gates, bearing the lion banner and a large chest. Edmure called his council together and hosted them in the Great Hall. While he had retaken the high seat of their father, Ser Robin pointed Alyssa to a smaller chair close to Edmure’s right side.  _ His right hand indeed _ , she smiled to herself as she took her seat. Ser Robin escorted the Lannister men in, and she heard her brother draw a quick breath as he saw the leader.  As Utherydes slammed his staff on the ground and began the usual introductions of Robb and Edmure, Alyssa took the time to speak to her brother about his concern. Leaning close, she placed her mouth to his ear, barely breathing the words so as not to be overheard. “What is it?”

 

She turned her head to allow him to respond, his quiet words whispered in a tone full of worry. “Vylarr, captain of Cersei Lannister’s guards. I saw him when Father and I visited the capital years ago. This must be serious.”

 

Alyssa frowned and returned her attention to the men in front of her as Utherydes finished speaking; “Approach. Identify yourselves and state your business with Their Graces”.

 

The man her brother had reacted to stepped forward, but notably refused to bow. “Lord Robb. Ser Edmure. I am Vylarr, captain of House Lannister’s forces in King’s Landing. I come in the name of Queen Cersei Lannister, in regards to the peace terms you sent.”

 

“And what does she say?” Still crownless, her nephew appeared regal nonetheless.

 

Vylarr breathed in deeply. “She says that they are totally unacceptable. However, she does agree to one of of your terms.” He gestured, and two of the men who had followed him in carried a large chest forward. At a nod from Edmure, Ser Robin stepped forward and opened the latches, lifting out a large sword in a scabbard seemingly made from a wolf’s pelt. 

 

The sight of it drew a gasp from Alyssa, she knew that sword. The last time she had seen it, it had been in the hands of King Robert on Pyke. Robb was smiling at the sight, the men of the North murmuring in excitement.

 

“Lord Eddard’s greatsword, Ice” Vylarr announced, “returned as promised in exchange for Bloodclaw, the sword Lady Alyssa took from Ser Jaime.” Every eye in the hall turned to look at her, specifically, the weapon hanging from her belt. As she reached down to unbuckle it, strangely, she felt a pang of sadness at having to give it back. This sword was more than a mere trophy to her, it was a symbol to the Riverlords, of their strength and ability to defy the West. When the Lords Frey and Vypren had hesitated in joining her, the sight of Bloodclaw, symbol of her victory, was all it had taken to convince them. Still, the sight of her nephew’s face, full of happiness as he accepted the large weapon from Ser Robin, was enough to have her reaching for her belt, however her brother raised his hand as she finally found the clasp.

 

“Hold, Captain. As this sword is a sign of good faith, then allow me to extend another. On the morrow, the lady Roslin Frey and I will be wed, and you and all your men are invited to attend the feast. Relax, enjoy some food and wine before you leave and once the festivities are over, the Lady Hand will present you Bloodclaw and you can ride to Casterly Rock to deliver it to Lord Tywin with full bellies.”

 

Even before Vylarr could answer, his men were cheering at the thought of feasting and drinking. Ruefully, the Lannister captain smiled. “I agree to those terms, Your Grace.” Suddenly, he snapped his fingers as if remembering something. “Oh yes.” He signalled to one of his men, who vanished into the crowd of red-cloaked Lannister guards. “As a further sign of good faith on the Crown’s part to the King in the North, Your Grace” the man returned, accompanied by a much shorter figure in a lion half-helm and crimson cloak. “I have a gift for you.”

 

Vylarr and the other guard stepped back into the crowd with a smile, and the short guard removed a crimson cloak from around their shoulders, before pulling off their half helm and raising their head.

 

Catelyn gasped and Alyssa turned her head in confusion to look at her sister as Robb Stark rose from his chair, face beginning to fill with hope. Grey eyes met grey eyes, and royal dignity forgotten, the King in the North was running across the hall, to the young girl now standing in front of him, face filled with joy. Tears were running from Catelyn’s eyes, and her cry of utter relief instantly explained the situation.

 

“Arya!”

 

Alyssa smiled at the reunion of the Starks as Arya Stark threw herself into her brother’s arms, and for a moment, brother and sister forgot all else around them as they wrapped each other in a crushing embrace. Alyssa wiped a tear of happiness from her own eye as Catelyn Stark rose from her place, and Arya Stark ran into her mother’s arms. Catelyn held her daughter tightly against her chest, turning her back as if to shield her against the dangers of the world. While his mother was occupied, Robb had regained enough composure to accept Ice with dignity, as well as a small chest that apparently held Arya’s possessions. Ser Cleos Frey came forward, submitting himself to Tully captivity once more; but with all the day’s revelations Alyssa lacked the time to deal with him, and absently she had him taken to one of the highborn cells. 

 

Arya Stark, Alyssa quickly learned, was a nearly an exact copy of herself as a girl. Spirited, stubborn and determined not to let anyone else stop her from fighting to protect her family; the youngest Stark latched onto her aunt almost immediately. Alyssa was a refreshing change from her mother constantly telling her to act like a lady; here was a real lady, with the title and everything, who didn’t bother with that nonsense like needlework or singing and dancing. Arya Stark knew what she wanted to be when she grew older; and Alyssa found herself in the strange position of being a role model.

 

She did what she could for her niece; teaching Arya the way Alyssa’s own uncle had taught her, and she found Arya not only a quick study, but a willing student. Alyssa pushed her hard, as hard as Brynden had driven her, and Arya wholeheartedly threw herself into the training. Alyssa’s task was easier than Brynden’s had been in one key respect; Arya had a killer’s instinct. 

 

Now that wasn’t to say that her niece was a murderer, but rather she was willing to strike killing blows, a trait all warriors should have but few began their training with. Even Alyssa herself had hesitated to go for the kill at first, a problem Brynden had quickly drilled out of her. Arya on the other hand, thrust her thin blade at Alyssa’s neck, eyes and heart with no qualms about attempting to kill her aunt, something Alyssa attributed to the weeks her niece had spent alone on the streets of King’s Landing. Arya’s eyes had lost the innocence of a child, and though Alyssa knew instinctively that her niece must have killed to survive, and more than once, she never asked, and Arya never spoke of it. The rest of the week passed quickly without incident; Alyssa spent her time not training Arya in the armory, trying to find a blade that suited her to replace Bloodclaw, and then all too soon, it was time. 

 

Rainbow light filled the sept as Septon Osmynd entered. An old man who had served at Riverrun since Edmure was a boy, he limped forward, wincing as his bad leg struck the ground, determined to serve House Tully one last time. As he opened  _ The Seven-Pointed Star  _ and began the traditional prayers, Alyssa smiled encouragingly at her brother, who stood in front of the septon in his finest clothing. Edmure shifted, clearly nervous now as he waited. While the septon continued his prayers, Alyssa took her time to glance around the sept. 

 

Riverrun’s sept was a small, seven-sided sandstone building with images of the Seven painted onto marble. While tradition stated that the groom’s family and guests would take the right side of the hall and the bride’s the left, for an event of such importance it wouldn’t do for the Northern lords to be left out, and so Umbers, Karstarks, Mormonts and other Northmen replaced the Freys unable to or unwilling to ride down from the Twins. Alyssa’s squire, Olyvar, was proudly standing at the front, warily glancing at Roose Bolton, who stood stoically next to him displaying no emotion at all. At last the septon closed the book, and the doors opened. 

 

Wearing the finest dress Riverrun’s seamstresses could produce, Roslin Frey walked towards the septon, where her brother waited, a smile breaking out at the sight of her. Ser Ryman, beaming with pride at House Frey’s elevation in status, held her arm as she went, in place of the father tradition would demand escort her. It took Roslin only a moment to arrive, but to Edmure, it must have seemed an eternity. The septon cleared his throat.  “You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.” 

 

Gently, as if Lady Roslin were spun glass he was afraid of damaging, Edmure reached to her shoulders and removed her cloak, the twin towers of Frey waving as the cloth moved. He handed it to Ser Ryman, who took it as solemnly as he could manage. He then unpinned his own cloak, and fastened it over her shoulders, the red and blue cloth seeming to ripple as the silver trout rested over her back. 

 

“My lords, my ladies” the old septon began “we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.” Softly, Edmure felt for her hand, she gripping his with a gentle smile and the septon began to wind a length of cloth around them, binding their hands together in a complex knot. “Let it be known that Roslin of House Frey and Edmure of House Tully are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.” With a smile of pride on his face, he concluded “In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity.” Carefully, he unwound the complex knot, being sure not to tear the ribbon. Once the cord was undone, he smiled at the two. “Look upon one another and say the words.”

 

As the two looked deeply into each other’s eyes, Alyssa felt tears come to her own as they spoke the final vows that would make them husband and wife. “...from this day until the end of my days.”

 

“With this kiss” her brother announced, “I pledge my love.” Bending, as Lady Roslin was shorter than he, Edmure pressed his lips to hers, and from what Alyssa could see of her new goodsister’s face, they were not unwelcome. They broke apart, and Alyssa applauded, along with the guests filling the sept, before filing out for the celebratory feast.

 

Despite her expectations, the feast was magnificent. Given the food shortages in the area around Riverrun, Alyssa had doubted Utherydes’ ability to pull off a banquet on such short notice, and while he did deserve much of the credit, alone he never could have done this. Earlier in the week, however, carts had begun to arrive from Harrenhal in response to Maester Vyman’s pleas for aid. Feeding more than thirty thousand men for weeks on end was no small feat, and Alyssa had seriously begun to worry that the army would starve to death as meals began to grow leaner. Lord Walder had been sending wagons down from the Twins with all he could spare, but House Frey’s lands on the edge of the Neck, although vast, were swampy and poor for crop growing at the best of times.

 

House Whent, however, controlled huge tracts of land near the God’s Eye, some of the most fertile in the Riverlands, and Lady Shella Whent was always glad to aid her kin. Though an old woman unable to ride herself, she had nonetheless supported House Tully in this war as much as humanly possible; her levies had come at Edmure’s call and died at Riverrun, while her harvests were now feeding the Tully and Stark hosts. The Lords Ryger and Goodbrook too, now that their few remaining men were in the fields instead of fighting, had sent as much food as they could spare, as had Lord Jason’s castellan. Supplies were now flowing towards Riverrun from all across the lands of the Trident, and with the Tully and Stark hosts soon to depart, Utherydes had been able to justify this glorious feast, as much a celebration of their impending attack on the West as it was a celebration of his King’s wedding.

 

The bride and groom, as well as their guests, ate heartily, glad of the good fare after the reduced rations they’d been living on for the past weeks, and Alyssa was glad to see Edmure taking the wine in moderation. One song about a floppy fish was  _ quite  _ enough, and it would not do for him to fail to perform tonight. As for herself, she disliked the feeling of being drunk, so she avoided the wines in favour of a jug of water someone had thoughtfully placed on the table with them. Glancing over at the rest of the hall, she saw the Lannister red-cloaks, looking uncomfortable at being in the middle of a Tully wedding, making a good meal, but many of them, especially the roughest types, seemed to be restraining themselves from the wine.

 

_ Strange. _

 

After everyone was finished eating, the feast was cleared away and the musicians began to play, signalling the start of the dancing. While not as skilled as many highborn girls, Alyssa’s lessons had included this, and she found herself moving about the floor with Ser Marq Piper, also sharing dances with Jonos Bracken, the Greatjon and finally her own brother. Her lord father contented himself with watching from the sidelines, Vyman having permitted the ill Hoster to attend on condition that he remain in his chair, a blanket over his legs to keep him warm. 

 

Hours after the festivities began, a familiar song struck her ears, and she smiled as her new goodsister was carried away for the bedding. Ladies and wives took her brother from the room, signalling the end of the formal festivities, though guests were of course permitted to dance, eat and drink more if they wished.

 

With her father taking a turn for the worse, and having to be taken back to his solar by Vyman for more milk of the poppy, many guests began to feel uncomfortable. Feeling a little full from the rich fare herself, Alyssa excused herself, heading to her chambers, where she changed back out of her now tighter fitting gown into her more familiar leather armour and blue oiled ringmail. Buckling on her sword belt, she felt herself again and headed for the courtyard to get some air. She was not surprised to see that someone else was already there, but she  _ was  _ surprised to see who it was. Red hair flashed in the moonlight as Catelyn Stark turned to meet her.


	37. Bloodstained Water

Though Alyssa was surprised to see her sister standing there, she masked her surprise, and smiled in greeting. “Catelyn. I thought you’d still be inside?”

 

The Lady of Winterfell clearly had something on her mind, but still managed to give a weak smile in return. “I was happy for our brother, but I don’t have much heart for dancing these days.” She looked down, sadness written all over her face.

 

“You miss Lord Eddard.” Catelyn looked up at the sound of her husband’s name. “I saw him at Pyke, though we never spoke. A good man.” Alyssa smiled encouragingly. “We’ll get him back, Catelyn. He’s family, and you know how we think about family here at Riverrun.” 

 

Good-naturedly, Catelyn rolled her eyes, understanding perfectly well what the younger woman was talking about, but Alyssa’s purpose had been to distract her sister from her sorrow, which had been done. She decided to take a gamble, and try to raise her elder sister’s spirits further.

 

“He’s not dead, Catelyn, and neither is your daughter. They’re prisoners, true, but as long as we hold the Kingslayer, Cersei Lannister won’t allow any of them to be harmed. Your sons are safe at Winterfell in the heart of the North, hundreds of leagues from the fighting, and once we crush Lord Tywin you can go home to them, with your husband and both your daughters.”

 

“For now.” Catelyn did raise her head slightly, despite her words. “Anything can happen in war, by this time next year lion banners may well be flying over Riverrun”

 

Unable to control herself at that, Alyssa laughed. “Our combined armies have Lord Tywin just under five to one. If anything, by next year  _ Casterly Rock _ will be flying trout and wolf banners, and then we can march on the city.”

 

Then Catelyn did smile, viciously, and for a moment, Alyssa could see none of the trout left in her sister, only a Northern wolf. “If that happens, Cersei’s mine”.

 

“No.” Both women turned to see Arya standing behind them, having moved quiet as a ghost, drawing a gasp from Alyssa as she hadn’t even heard her niece leave the hall. The clothes Arya was wearing however, told their own story. One thing Alyssa had learned over the past weeks, was that Arya despised wearing dresses perhaps more than Alyssa herself did. Arya practically seemed to live in breeches, and she had deflected any of her mother’s attempts to force her to dress in a more ladylike manner by pointing out that her aunt was not only a lady, but respected by other nobles, and she did not wear a dress.

 

This argument had left Catelyn without a reasonable counter, allowing Arya to wear what she wished for the past weeks, but with even Alyssa swallowing her dislike and donning a gown for the wedding, there Arya’s luck had run out. Hair brushed neatly, Arya had presented a pretty figure in a grey dress, though she had hated every minute of it, and only her mother’s plea to her not to make a scene during her uncle’s wedding had kept the displeasure from Arya’s face.

 

The fact that said dress was now nowhere to be seen however, meant that Arya must have slipped out of the hall when she saw her aunt leave, and acted likewise to Alyssa, attiring herself as she pleased once more, sword and dagger hanging from her belt. Catelyn pursed her lips when she saw the weapons, but Arya had refused to give up the blade gifted to her by her half-brother. 

 

Even a direct order to her daughter to relinquish the weapons had failed, as though he paid dearly for it, Robb Stark had overruled his mother in this case, pointing out that Needle had saved Arya’s life in King’s Landing, and allowing her to keep them as her King.

 

Glancing at her niece now, Alyssa could see death written on Arya’s expression as her lips pulled back to reveal her teeth in a wolfish grin. “Cersei’s  _ mine _ .”

 

Judging from the blood in Arya’s voice, Alyssa privately pitied Cersei Lannister if the Queen ever did happen to fall into her niece’s hands. Before she could voice her own claim to the Kingslayer’s punishment, or Catelyn could object to her daughter’s tone, her eyes fell to the battlements, and her smile turned to a frown. Something was wrong.

 

Where the walls would normally be manned by men in blue cloaks and fish-crested helms, the stone ramparts were bare. Even given that more of the guards had been given the night off in honour of their King’s wedding, there should still have been enough to man the walls. Alyssa touched her sister’s arm, and pointed at the walls. Catelyn’s gaze followed her arm, before she nodded gravely. 

 

“I know” she said, voice low, “but what does it mean?” 

 

Before either woman could think of an answer, footsteps came from the direction of the lower bailey, where a clanking of metal indicated the opening of the Water Gate, and Alyssa’s hand went into her cloak as she heard footsteps approaching.

 

Catelyn moved behind her sister, willing to leave any fighting that might occur to the one with weapons and armor, then opening her mouth to rebuke Arya for not doing likewise, but she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw two of her father’s guards approaching, blue cloaks blowing in the evening breeze.

 

“Miladies” one of them said, bowing his head in respect. “It’s not safe out here alone at night. You should come back inside.”

 

Strangely, Catelyn could see that her sister seemed to be studying the men intently, as if looking for something. Shrugging off Alyssa’s strange behaviour, Catelyn decided to politely decline their offer instead. “Thank you, but we’re fine where we are. You can return to your duties, your posts have no-one guarding them while you’re standing here.”

 

Before the men could reply, Catelyn saw her sister’s eyes narrow, before Alyssa’s entire posture changed. Her hand was now resting casually on her hip, just above the hilt of her sword, while she stiffened her body and turned it as if she wished to shield Catelyn from harm. “Did you cut yourself while shaving, guardsman?” she asked, pointing at a spot of not yet congealed blood on the man’s mail, just above the neck, and yet he had no marks visible on his face or neck.

 

_ That’s odd _ , Catelyn thought, now beginning to see why her sister was suspicious,  _ there’s been no battle for weeks. _

 

The other guard now moved forward, a friendly smile on his face, but something about it seemed wrong. “Nothing you three ladies need to worry about. Now come along.”

 

He stepped closer, and just as Catelyn drew breath to shout at him for his presumptuousness, moonlight flashed off his helm, revealing a few strands of free-hanging golden hair, and Catelyn’s breath caught in her throat.

 

_ Golden hair. None of Father’s men have golden hair, it’s a rarity in the Riverlands, and the North for that matter. In fact, the only place known for blonde hair is… _

 

The sound of metal on cloth interrupted her thoughts, and crimson steel glinted in the moonlight as her sister drew the Valyrian blade hanging from her side. “You’re not Tully men.”

 

The first guard clicked his tongue in annoyance. “I told ya it wouldn’t work, Ser Hill.”

 

_ Hill!  _ Catelyn was horrified to hear the bastard name of the Westerlands, as pieces began to slide together in her mind. She distantly noticed the now named knight glare at the false guard for giving them away, before he sighed, pursed his lips and gave a sharp whistle.

 

It must have been a signal, because crimson-cloaked Lannister men began streaming into the yard, so many they must have come from the Water Gate. Among them were men in Tully livery, some still spotted with blood, showing evidence that the rightful owner had not given it up easily, while others had guilty, but determined looks on their faces. 

 

As they entered the yard, they spit into groups. Many headed for the barracks, while others moved to take the gatehouse. Around ten remained in the yard, now glancing at both women, and spreading out, as if to leave them nowhere to run. As Catelyn tried to process what was happening, her mind barely able to comprehend the fact that the Lannisters were inside Riverrun without so much as an alarm having been raised, her sister’s determined voice caught her attention.

 

“Catelyn. Run.”

 

While she was not trained in arms, Hoster Tully’s eldest daughter was no coward, and so she shook her head, moving closer to her younger sister and plucking the dagger from its sheath at the small of Alyssa’s back, gripping it tightly. “I won’t leave you.”

 

Alyssa breathed through her teeth, frustrated at Catelyn’s lack of understanding. “I’m not asking you to leave me.” She unsheathed her shorter blade as well, falling into a defensive stance with such ease that Catelyn couldn’t help but admire her sister’s skill, despite the situation. “You heard that sound, the Water Gate is open. These bastards are coming in by boat, and unless we close it, the whole Lannister army could get into Riverrun for all we know!” 

 

She glanced at her out of the corner of her eye, her attention now on the men in front of her. “Go get help, I can’t fight them all alone! Get Uncle Brynden, get him to gather some men and retake the winch-house.”

 

Before Catelyn could answer, movement drew her eye as Arya ducked under the arm of the Lannister knight and ran, heading towards the barracks. Curses rained from the traitorous guardsmen as they raced after her, intent upon stopping her from summing help.

 

Catelyn looked at her sister, every inch of her body now preparing for battle. “Alyssa…”

 

“Go!” Her sister shouted, as she flung herself headlong into the Lannister men blocking Catelyn’s way. Her furious charge pushed them back, and with no other option except stand helplessly and watch her sister die, Catelyn lifted up her gown and fled through the gap Alyssa’s attack had opened.

  
  


Running as if she had wings on her feet, Arya Stark made her way through Riverrun. She may have only been in the castle for a few weeks, but she was not called Arya Underfoot back at Winterfell for nothing. Unlike Sansa, she didn’t restrict herself to her chambers and the other highborn. Arya knew the smithy, the stables and all other parts of Winterfell like the back of her hand, including many secrets others could not even dream existed.

 

True to her nature, Arya had been exploring thoroughly in her spare time during her weeks in House Tully’s stronghold, and had quickly worked out routes that while long, went through tunnels or tight spaces that grown men could not follow, and she made full use of those now. Rather than cross the courtyard to reach the barracks, Arya darted through the godswood, dodging between trees, before ducking under a gate and moving through the gardens of her late grandmother, Minisa Tully.

 

Lady Minisa had been a keen gardener, but when she had passed, Lord Hoster had been too stricken with grief to worry about keeping up her work, and sections of the garden had slowly become overgrown and abandoned. Eventually he recovered enough to order the centre of the gardens kept pristine in her memory, but by then the trees on the edge had grown branches that tangled together, too strong to simply push through. 

 

Though the gardeners made their best effort, the trees were difficult to cut back and since the route they blocked was rarely used, Lord Hoster had eased their workload by simply ordering them to keep the trees out of the rest of the gardens, and so a new fence had been raised.

 

Though her brothers mocked her occasionally for her small stature, Arya had never been more grateful for her lack of size, as she easily slipped between the bars and moved under the trees, unobstructed by the branches, though she was forced to ensure Needle did not get stuck. 

 

Behind her, she could hear curses as the Lannister men following her attempted to force their way through and were caught by the branches. One drew his sword to hack his way through, only for the blade to glance off the thick wood. Laughing triumphantly at her victory, Arya continued on.

 

Her laughter died in her throat, however, when she reached the barracks. Oh House Tully’s garrison was there all right, she had certainly come to the right place, the problem was that they were, to a man, all fast asleep. One glance at the empty jugs and barrels scattered around the hall explained the situation, and Arya cursed the idiocy of the Tully guards who had drunk themselves into a heavy stupor celebrating the wedding of their King.

 

Clearly, she would find no help here, but with nothing else that she could think of to do, the young girl summoned all her strength to slowly, ever so slowly drag a heavy table across the room to block the door, which she locked, before attempting to wake even a few of the slumbering guardsmen. Hurling water on their faces served only to make one roll over in his sleep, muttering something, and Arya screamed in frustration. The table shuddered as something struck the door from the other side, and eyes narrowed, she drew Needle, determined not to be taken again.

 

The table shook again, and now desperate, Arya attempted the one thing her father had told her never to do to a man, something that had caused even the normally calm Jon to grow angry with her after she did it to him during a spar. Drawing back her left foot, she planted it between the legs of the sleeping guardsman with all her might.

 

The effect was immediate. As her boot struck home, the formerly slumbering man gasped hoarsely and curled up on the floor, as if to ease the pain. Blearily, his eyes opened and he gasped as he saw the King in the North’s younger sister standing before him.

 

“Lady…Lady Arya”. He groaned, and staggered to his feet, leaning against the table for support. Abruptly, a third, violent blow slammed into the door, and the table shook so violently he was forced to grab hold or be thrown back to the ground. The shock however, seemed to have temporarily sobered him up, as his eyes were clear when he glanced at her. “Lady Arya! What the hell is going on?”

 

Arya bared her teeth as she glared at the man she now recognised as Ser Robin Ryger, captain of the Tully guards. “The Lannisters are attacking, Ser, that’s what’s going on, and most of your guards are either dead or too drunk to do anything about it!”

 

“Impossible!” Ser Robin declared indignantly, already reaching for his sword as he rose. “I was very clear in my instructions; the men were not to over-indulge as we still had our duties to perform. Why, I even showed an example by limiting myself to one cup of wine…” Ser Robin trailed off, and he moved across the hall quickly, now regaining control of himself as he searched among the sprawled forms for one in particular.

 

Finding the one he wanted, Ser Robin shook the big man’s shoulder in an attempt to wake him, and when that failed, drew back his hand and slapped the man across the face. “Gregor!” His shout did nothing, and with a sigh of defeat, the captain stood up.

 

“Drugged. I should have known that wine was no good.”

 

“What?” Arya gasped. “How could you know that?”

 

“Gregor is known among my men for his drinking skills, no-one could beat him.” Ser Robin smiled mirthlessly.” Seven hells, he once took on an entire group at the same time and drank them all under the table. There was something other than just wine in there.” 

 

Ser Robin placed a hand on his bald head, wincing as another blow, this one much more powerful, slammed against the door and the guard captain staggered from the force of it. “Though that knowledge doesn’t help now.” He drew his sword and glanced at Arya, standing there grimly with Needle in her hand. “I’ll hold the table, you try and wake up some more of my men.”

 

Face set, Arya set about her task while Ser Robin set his sword down nearby and threw himself into the task of keeping the door blocked; using his full weight to hold the table down. Distantly, he heard gasps of pain and winces, and he forced himself to ignore the evidence that Lady Arya was resorting to the same method she had used to rouse him.

 

It took a few minutes, and Ser Robin was growing exhausted by the time reinforcements arrived, but the Stark girl came through. She’d managed to wake a dozen of his men, and out of a garrison of over a hundred, that was probably the best he could hope for, who armed themselves and aided him in blocking the doors. 

 

Once a makeshift ram broke through, leaving a fist-sized hole in the doors, which a hand appeared through, wielding a sword which it jabbed into the leg of one of the guards. The man collapsed with a cry and Ser Robin raised his sword but Arya was faster, calmly thrusting her thin blade forward, she was rewarded with a scream and the sword clattering to the ground as she impaled the Lannister’s arm. She withdrew her blade and the arm pulled back through the hole. That was the last time they tried that, though the Lannisters continued attempting to take the barracks, and Arya was forced to abandon any thoughts of aiding her family and focus on her own battle.

  
  


Unlike her warrior sister or tomboy daughter, Catelyn Stark was not used to running around. Her position as Lady of Winterfell usually required a dignified brisk walk, and as she raced through the corridors of her family home, she quickly found herself becoming out of breath.

 

_ Though of course _ she mused to herself bitterly,  _ this stupid thing isn’t helping.  _

 

Unlike Alyssa and Arya in their breeches and boots, Catelyn was still wearing the gown and shoes she had chosen for Edmure’s wedding, and while said gown was a beautiful blend of blues and greys, showing her allegiance to both the North and the Trident wonderfully, when moving faster than a walk it tangled her legs and threatened to trip her. 

 

Cursing both the situation and what she was about to do, Catelyn stopped moving and grasped hold of a nearby statue to keep her balance. Kicking off her shoes, she grasped the lower portion of her gown in one hand and with her other, brought up the dagger she had taken from Alyssa. Crudely shearing off enough material to free her legs, part of Catelyn wept at the destruction of the beautiful garment. 

 

The fine silk gave easily under the edge of the blade, Catelyn thankful that her sister was so obsessive about keeping her steel honed, and as she glanced down at her now exposed legs, she couldn’t help but smile for a second as she thought of what Sansa would say when she was rescued; once she heard of her mother’s disgraceful actions.

 

That smile turned to a frown and Catelyn’s face hardened in determination as she reminded herself that unless she got help soon, she may never see either of her daughters again. Scooping up some of the material she had cut off, it took mere moments for Catelyn’s skilled hands to twist it into a crude cord and tie it around her waist to further keep the remains of her gown out of the way. Thrusting the dagger through it like a belt, she took a breath and broke into a run once more, her bare feet slapping against Riverrun’s floors.

 

While she may not have been the explorer her youngest daughter was, Catelyn had spent her childhood years in this castle, and she knew her way through quite well; especially to the family quarters. As a matter of fact, she could probably find her way there blindfolded, and that was no exaggeration. With her movements now unrestricted, Catelyn made good progress, and soon reached the Blackfish’s rooms. Brynden had been patrolling the road the previous night, and so had missed the wedding; Edmure ordering his uncle to sleep rather than force himself to attend.

 

Skidding to a halt as her bare feet struggled to grip onto the floor, Catelyn was gasping for breath as she reached her uncle’s room, until her gasps for air turned to a gasp of horror.

The Lannisters had clearly beaten her here, but rather than risk fighting the legendary Blackfish head-on, they had simply opted to confine him rather than attack. The large statue of a trout near Brynden’s room, which her uncle had painted black as a sign of rebellion shortly before leaving for Pennytree, had been pushed over in front of the door.

 

Grasping the trout’s head, Catelyn pulled with all her might but even before her muscles strained, she knew it was no good. These statues were heavy, it must have taken a team of men to drop this one. Hearing the sounds of Lannister men approaching, she grabbed for her last strand of hope and desperately hammered on the door.

 

“Uncle! Wake up, I need you!”

 

Praying for the Blackfish to hear her, Catelyn’s prayers were answered when she heard a faint yawn from inside the room. 

 

“Cat?” “What…?”

 

The clashing of steel cut the Blackfish off then, as the sounds of the last few loyal Tully guardsmen putting up a desperate defence reached his ears, and the seasoned warrior knew instantly what was happening. Grabbing his sword, he pushed at the door automatically only for the wooden portal to remain closed. Frowning now, he put his shoulder into it and shoved, the only result being that he now had a dull pain in said shoulder.

 

“Cat!” The Blackfish shouted through the wood. “Something’s wrong, I can’t get the door open.”

 

“It’s no good, Uncle!” his niece cried back. “They’ve blocked it with a statue, I can’t move it! The Lannisters are attacking Riverrun, they’re bringing in men through the Water Gate!”

 

“The Water Gate?” Brynden’s mind raced and time seemed to stop as the Blackfish saw a way that he could help after all. As he took his shield from its hooks, he remembered Catelyn on the other side of the door. As much as it loathed him to send his niece into danger, he couldn’t be in two places at once and the castle would fall quickly by the sound of it if nothing was done. 

 

“Listen to me, Cat” he called, pulling on his breeches. “If Lannister men are in Riverrun, then they’ve taken out the guards on duty. Most of the garrison are in the barracks having their own celebration; I need you to find them and raise the alarm. Though why they haven’t already come out” Brynden grumbled the last part quietly as not to worry Catelyn.

 

“Arya went to warn them when this all started” was his niece’s reply.

 

Brynden blew out a long breath, not willing to be the one to tell his niece that in that case, her daughter was more than likely dead. Arya Stark had impressed him with her skills, but the Lannisters were no fools; they’d have sent a force to seize the barracks, and the girl stood no chance alone.

 

Casting about for some way to distract Catelyn, Brynden clicked his fingers and sighed in relief as a suitable method came to mind. “Then find Alyssa! She’ll keep you safe!”

 

Catelyn shook her head in reply, then blushed as she remembered that her uncle couldn’t see her through the door. “Alyssa’s holding them off in the courtyard, or was the last time I saw her!”

 

Brynden cursed to himself. Alyssa pinned down, Ser Robin still in the barracks with his men and now he was trapped here. Without someone to lead the defence, Riverrun had no hope of holding off the Lannisters. Brynden’s resolve hardened like a diamond. He knew what he had to do. Raising his voice, he addressed Catelyn one last time.

 

“Listen to me, Cat” he called, praying she was still there. “We can hold out for a time but we can’t throw the Lannisters out without reinforcements. Our forces are camped just across the river; if you can get out of the castle and bring help; we may just be able to salvage this mess. Do you understand?”

 

“I...Catelyn’s voice firmed in resolve. “I will, Uncle.” The sound of her footsteps moved away from the door, and Brynden hastened across to his window, which opened out over the Tumblestone. Grasping his sword belt and slinging his shield across his back, Brynden took a deep breath to calm himself before stepping out the window and plunging towards the rushing waters.

  
  


The Tumblestone is a fast river, which has claimed the lives of many smallfolk unlucky enough to fall in; but it is also very deep, allowing Brynden to make his leap without fear of injuring himself, and the Blackfish was a strong swimmer. It helped that he was wearing no armour, though he did curse the fact that his boots were necessary as they pulled towards the bottom. Another fact on his side was that the Tumblestone’s current ran towards the Water Gate, and Brynden’s window was further upriver. Therefore, rather than having to exhaust himself battling against the river, Brynden was able to simply allow himself to drift with the current until he reached the rusted iron portcullis, currently raised over his head to allow boats through. 

 

As he pulled himself up onto the small stone steps that led back into the castle, Brynden’s eyes narrowed as he spotted a flicker of colour much farther upriver. Squinting into the distance, he could just make out a sail, followed by a small, flat hull and flashes of metal, but it was enough. 

 

_ That’s a river galley. And from the colour of the sail, _ he thought grimly to himself,  _ it’s one of Hoster’s.  _

 

Another galley was already floating away down the Tumblestone, and the pieces began to come together in Brynden’s mind. 

 

_ The leaderless men attacking Alyssa’s lands.  They must be working with the Lannisters in the castle, and now that the gates are open, someone has gathered those scattered Westermen and led them in an attack on Riverrun. _ He glanced upriver, a bitter feeling in his stomach for a moment.  _ And what’s worse is, I know how this happened. Hoster keeps a few galleys to patrol the rivers, or at least, House Tully’s direct bannermen store them for him along the banks of the Tumblestone and Red Forks.  _ Brynden clenched his fist as he realized that the ideal launching point for such an attack was barely two hours ride from the limit of his patrol area,  _ because I pulled back the patrols when I thought the Lannisters were beaten. _

 

Disdainfully, he glanced out over the river, where the bulk of the Tully and Stark forces were camped.  _ And of course those fools are too busy celebrating to notice the ships sailing past their very noses.  _ It was unbelievable that this could have possibly happened, and yet, it had. Brynden could guess how it had begun; guardsmen had been bribed or else killed for their uniforms, and the winch-house to the Water Gate taken by treachery. 

 

From there, small boats of Lannister men were sent; not enough to arouse suspicion, until inevitably, the alarm was raised and the need for stealth was eliminated, at which point a signal must have been sent upriver somehow, to the waiting galleys. Upon receiving it, the loaded ships had begun making their way downriver, and even now if he strained his eyes Brynden could see another ship in the distance behind the first. This was a real problem, because although the small boats could only hold five men or so, lightly armed, a river galley could hold eighteen rowers as well as at least five fully armed fighters. 

 

The situation was already desperate, adding forty more men onto the Lannisters side would be the tipping point. Brynden had to act now.  Drawing his sword and setting his shield on his arm, he moved into the lower bailey, where he spied two guards in blue cloaks attacking one another. Glancing at their faces, Brynden recognised one of them as an old man who had loyally served Riverrun for decades. Not knowing his opponent, Brynden took a gamble and plunged his sword into the younger man’s back.

 

When he was met with thanks instead of an attack, the Blackfish knew he’d made the right choice. Accepting them with a quick smile, Brynden gestured for the man to follow him before moving on. The fighting was fierce, but Brynden was methodical about his movements. Skillfully, he cut his way through the melee to the few remaining Tully loyalists, gathering them about him like a knot as he went, all the while glancing back to the gate every chance he had to estimate how far away that galley was. Once it docked; the lower bailey was lost for sure and if he and his men were still there when that happened, they were finished.

 

Brynden had managed to save ten men by the time that he judged the galley too close to risk remaining any longer. Signalling for his group to follow him, Brynden turned and began cutting his way through the melee towards the stairs that led out of the lower bailey. With ten men behind him, Brynden was the tip of the wedge that pierced through the chaos of the fighting.  Cries of alarm came from behind him as the Lannister men realized what he was planning, but Brynden had gained the stairs; and leaving one of his men behind to guard the narrow way, his group raced upwards. At the top, a low battlement looked out over the raging Tumblestone, and at the end of a short walkway was the winch-house which controlled the raising and lowering of the Water Gate.

 

Unlike the ramparts, the winch-house was an important post; and Brynden had agreed with Ser Robin’s decision not to reduce the guard during the wedding. The dead bodies outside the door, both Lannister and Tully both, told the Blackfish that the Water Gate had not been taken cheaply. A quick glance to the windows showed that no archers were positioned, and so gathering his men, Brynden pointed to another of the ever-present trout statues and gave orders.

 

The stone decoration may have been too heavy for Catelyn to move herself, but with the strength of eleven men working at it, the statue was easily raised to shoulder height and moved in front of the door. With five men on each side, Brynden himself gripped the back of the makeshift ram and prepared to shove as he gave the order.

 

“Heave!”

 

Hardened stone met thick wood and left a slight dent in the door. Inside the gatehouse, Brynden could hear panic as the Lannister men occupying it scrambled to guard the doors, but without archers there was nothing they could do as his men drew back the statue for another strike.

 

The fish head slammed into the door again, and this time a visible dent was seen when it pulled back. The third hit was met with resistance, and voices could be heard grunting on the other side of the door, indicating that the Lannisters were now holding the doors shut with their bodies. Pursing his lips, Brynden slammed the ram forward again, and despite the weight on the other side, the door moved slightly. Smiling at the sight, he raised his voice, uncaring of who heard him.

 

“That’s it lads” he called, drawing grins from his men. “Keep at it, we’ll be through in no time.”

 

Cheers answered him and the men of Riverrun redoubled their efforts. It took time of course, the winch-house was designed to resist attack, but after a few minutes, the thick wood splintered under the repeated blows from heavy stone. Brynden and his men slammed the ram into the door one more time; causing it to buckle inwards, before hurling the huge piece of rock at the doors and drawing their swords.

 

With gravity and momentum behind it; the sheer weight of the statue crushed the doors in and sent the Lannisters behind it sprawling to the ground. The Tully men moved in, blades in hand and it was the work of a few moments to finish off the few demoralised Lannister men. With the winch-house now under Tully control, Brynden instinctively reached for the crank that controlled the Water Gate, but after a second’s thought, released it and moved to the window overlooking the river. 

 

A quick glance left Brynden cursing; he had been too slow, and the swift current of the Tumblestone had already allowed one galley to reach the Water Stair and unload its troops. Even now he could see it sailing downriver, while another one approached the gate. Determined not to allow it to happen twice, he double-checked the speed of the galley then judging his moment carefully, Brynden moved back over to the winch, and with a smile pulled the lever, allowing the Water Gate to crash back down into the water just as the second galley passed under it. The heavy iron bars crashed into the river galley, smashing it in an instant, and sending it to the bottom of the river. The Lannister men lining the deck had no chance; in an instant they were sent flying into the Tumblestone, screaming and floundering in vain as the fierce current and weight of their armor pulled them to a watery grave. Brynden smiled in satisfaction, but there was more work to be done if Riverrun was to hold against this attack, and so leaving three of his men to hold the winch-house, he moved on.

 

Moving back down the stairs, Brynden hastened through the castle until he and his men reached a small bridge leading over the courtyard. Once across it, it was a short distance to the gatehouse. Since the walkway was narrow, and lacked handrails, Brynden moved quickly but cautiously. As he crossed the halfway point, a hand seized his arm, and taken off stride he teetered for a moment before regaining his balance, already turning to deal with whoever had attacked him.

 

The sight of one of his own men, however, stayed his blade for a moment as the man shook his arm urgently. 

 

“Ser Brynden” the man’s voice was insistent. “Look down there!”

 

Carefully, Brynden peered over the edge to where he could see fierce fighting still taking place in the courtyard. Swords clashed and men screamed as they were cut down. Brynden smiled at the sight of Riverrun’s defenders fighting back, but his smile turned to a gasp of horror as the Tully warrior spun, striking two Lannister men down with a blade in each hand.

 

Brynden only knew one fighter in Riverrun currently who could pull off that move so expertly and without effort, and if that weren’t enough, long red hair had come loose during the spin, gleaming in the moonlight.

 

_ Alyssa. _

 

Brynden watched with pride as Alyssa, graceful as a dancer, slashed her way through the knot of Lannister men occupying the courtyard. The last fell, and she spun her blades in triumph, before more came in and she raised her blades once more. The numerous dead bodies littering the yard, nearly all in crimson cloaks, told Brynden that his niece had not been idle, but the tide of enemies flowing into the courtyard seemed endless, and though her skill was great, Alyssa could not defeat an army by herself.

 

_ She can’t keep this up forever. _

 

Every instinct in Brynden Tully’s bones wanted to go to her aid immediately, but the tactician in him knew that he had to protect the gatehouse, for if the Lannisters were able to cut Riverrun off from reinforcements, the castle would certainly fall. The Blackfish was torn; if he abandoned Alyssa she would almost certainly be cut down, but if the gatehouse fell they would all die.

 

The words of House Tully had never been more painful to Brynden as family warred with duty, and neither path allowed him to fully uphold his honor. Clenching his fists in indecision, Brynden watched Alyssa fight for a few moments, until the grey dolphin on her chest caught the moonlight, and in that flash, he knew what he had to do.

 

The River’s Shield. Those were the words Alyssa had chosen for her House, the words of Riverhold, and the banner under which Brynden served. He had sworn to follow her orders the day he took service at Riverhold, and to uphold the values represented by the grey dolphin.

 

_ To protect the people of the Riverlands, no matter the cost. _

 

Brynden lowered his head, tears welling in his eyes, before his face hardened and he blinked them back, becoming the feared warrior Blackfish once more.

 

“Come on.”

 

He turned to leave but the man grabbed his arm again, grip unrelenting. 

 

“But ser? Lady Alyssa?”

 

Eyes flaming, Brynden whirled on him, fixing him with a glare that could have turned the man to stone. “Alyssa is doing her duty, just as we must do ours. Now  _ come. _ ”

 

Brynden’s voice would brook no disagreement, and as the man apologized and fell back into line, Brynden fixed his retreating back with a furious stare. It was hard enough to know that he was essentially leaving his own niece to die, he didn’t need to be questioned about it. As they continued over the bridge, he spared one last look backwards, and then a thought towards Hoster, who years ago had entrusted Brynden with Alyssa’s safety.

 

_ I’m sorry, brother. I failed you. _

 

With no more time for thought or emotion, Brynden broke into a jog and led his men the rest of the way over the walkway. The gatehouse which protected Riverrun’s main entrance controlled the raising and lowering of not only the drawbridge, but the portcullis guarding the wooden gates, and as the linchpin of Riverrun’s defence, it was obviously the most heavily defended in the whole castle.

 

Even as Brynden and his men ran towards it, they could hear the sounds of fighting and they sped up their pace in time to see a small group of Lannister men attempting to force their way inside. 

 

Standing in the entrance to the doors, one last Tully man defied them, bleeding from many wounds but still defiantly slashing at an enemy who inched just a little too close. Steel flashed, a man cried out and one of the attackers retreated, blood flowing from his upper arm where the tip of the blade had caught him. Panting, the Tully guardsman raised his sword again, and Brynden decided it was time to take a hand.

 

“Riverrun!” He led his men in a charge into the attacker’s rear, and he smirked in satisfaction even as he ran at the sight of the Lannister men’s faces gaping in shock and horror. Had they arrived even two minutes later it would have been too late; the Lannisters inside the gatehouse and the doors barred, but as it was, the Westermen were caught between Brynden’s attacking force and the defiant survivor. That defiance, however, had come at a price, and slowed by his injuries, the guardsman fell just as the Blackfish cut down the last attacker.

 

Immediately, Brynden knelt down to check on him, but even his limited knowledge of healing told him the man was beyond help. The cut on his leg thought to be not serious had been deeper than expected, and the man had torn it open with his valiant last stand. Blood was not as much oozing as gushing out of the wound, and standing in a pool of crimson, Brynden knew it was hopeless. Reaching out, he gently closed the man’s eyes and laid his longsword upon his chest, wrapping the fallen warrior’s hands about the hilt before directing his men to take charge and secure the gatehouse. 

 

He thought for a moment about going to Alyssa’s aid, but shouts from the door drew his attention, and Brynden whirled in time to see another group of Lannister soldiers approaching. Cursing, he drew his sword and glancing at the ever-present trout statue outside the room; gestured for his men to carry it inside before closing and barring the doors. As the Lannisters pounded in vain on the hardened oak, Brynden sighed to himself.

 

_ I’m sorry Alyssa. But this time you’re on your own. _

  
  


Blades singing in the night air, Alyssa slashed and cut her way through the Lannister men as they entered the courtyard. At first, they had come only a few at a time, and she dealt with them near effortlessly, the wide, open battleground allowing her to make full use of her speed and agility. She lost track of how many she killed in the wild chaos. Ten? Twenty? Fifty? More? The dead lay all around the courtyard, and as they began to mount up she found her agility curtailed; unable to spin or leap for fear of landing on a corpse and destroying her balance. Eventually, things became much more difficult, as the Lannisters had enough men assigned to other tasks, and began swarming into the courtyard in force, attacking in groups.

 

Alyssa could feel the flow of the battle, and knew that they were trying to force her in a certain direction, but with the courtyard no longer a viable area due to the sheer number of enemies, she had little choice. She retreated in the direction they wanted her to, allowing them to guide her to their goal. At the very least, she might find out what the hell they wanted out of all of this.

 

She soon had her answer, as she passed under a low doorway and stepped back down a dark corridor. Dimly lit with torches, cells lined the walls all the way until the end, and the waters of the Red Fork could be heard faintly behind the walls. These were the dungeons of House Tully, and as she retreated down the corridor, many of the cells were occupied by highborn nobles of the Westerlands taken prisoner in the moons of fighting. Seeing Alyssa back down the hallway, followed by men in crimson cloaks, the Westermen began to cheer, knowing that a rescue was nigh. 

 

Having retreated as far as she dared; to a point that was so narrow that only two could come at her at a time, Alyssa allowed the two Lannister men following her to come closer, before she cut one’s throat with her shortsword and ran the other through with Bloodclaw. She kicked his corpse off her blade into the next man, and struck him down as he recoiled. Ducking a dagger thrust at her, she cut down two more, pressing forward and cutting a good way into the Lannister mass before they recovered and drove her back a few paces. Twisting her body, she allowed a sword to glide past her shoulder, and seeing that it was wielded by a guardsman she recognized; drove Bloodclaw between his legs. 

 

The Valyrian blade cut through ringmail, cloth and bone like butter and the traitor squealed like a pig as blood ran from his nethers. The fighting stopped for a moment, as the men in the dungeons winced in sympathy, before Alyssa coldly slashed her shortsword through his calf; severing the tendons at his ankle and instantly robbing him of his ability to stand. Unable to defend himself from where he lay, the turncoat Tully guardsman could only watch as the crimson Valyrian blade struck one last time, splattering his face with his own blood as it struck his sword hand off at the wrist.

 

Howling in pain as blood gushed from his wound, the man rolled around in agony and as the other men watched, dumbfounded. Alyssa screamed a challenge and charged forward once more. Her cry unlocked their limbs and with roars of rage, the Lannister men rushed to meet her as best they could in the confined space. Under her bravado, however, Alyssa knew unless help came eventually, her chances were slim.

  
  


Though Catelyn wanted to follow her uncle’s orders and seek help from the North and Riverlands forces encamped outside Riverrun, she was no fool. The drawbridge and gatehouse would be important targets for the attacking Lannisters, and so all the major routes to them would be blocked almost immediately; leaving the castle to seek aid would be impossible. She took back ways therefore, avoiding the courtyard and taking the stairs up around and along the ramparts, trying to reach one of the watchtowers overlooking the river where she hoped to sound the alarm bell and alert their men that something was wrong. 

 

It took longer than she would have liked; her heart hammering in her chest as she ran, her body unused to this much exercise, but at length she found herself at the foot of the watchtower, and with a sob of relief she raced towards the door. That sob died in her throat and became true tears however, when the tower door opened and a pair of armed men carrying crossbows exited; one wearing the trout half-helm and blue cloak of a Tully guardsman, while the other was clad in a crimson cloak and golden mail.

 

Her despair must have shown in her face, as the Lannister guard lowered his crossbow and held out a hand towards her, smiling kindly.

 

“Come now, my lady. It’s all over now.”

 

Catelyn took a step back, glancing behind her as if to run, and the other guard shook his head, an amused smile playing about his lips.

 

“And where is it you mean to go, my lady? The castle’s ours now, or soon will be at least. We have the gatehouses, the watchtowers and the yard. The keep still holds, for now, but Riverrun is under our control. Come with us, it won’t be safe for you out there. There’s nothing you can do now.”

 

Catelyn bit back a cry of both frustration and exhaustion, and with nothing else that she could think of, resigned herself to failure. As the guards approached, the moonlight flashed off the surface of the Red Fork, and an an instant, one last, desperate idea came to her mind. Turning on her heel, she broke into a run again and caught off guard by the unexpected move, it took a precious second before the two men swore and gave chase.

 

Sprinting along the ramparts and up stairs, Catelyn moved with purpose, knowing exactly where she was going, although it seemed to the two guards that she was pointlessly climbing higher as they doggedly stayed on her heels. At last she came to a halt, panting as she leaned against the ramparts overlooking the Red Fork fifty feet below. Out across the other bank, fires lit up the night and distant sounds could be heard as the men of the Riverlands drank and sang to celebrate their King’s wedding.

 

With Catelyn now cornered, the two following her slowed to a walk, one clutching at a stitch in his side caused by all the running. While he was in good shape, moving at full sprint while carrying a loaded crossbow required deliberate effort to ensure one did not accidentally shoot themselves or their allies.

 

“That’s...enough” he panted, his face red from the unexpected exercise. “There’s nowhere...left to go, Lady Stark.”

 

Catelyn made a show of glancing around helplessly, but she was buying time to slow her breathing and clear her mind for what came next, and hardening her resolve, she swiftly climbed up onto the ramparts. The night breeze blew onto her face, and before either guard could do more than watch open-mouthed, Catelyn leaned forward and fell into the night.

 

Highborn though they may be; the children of House Tully were still children and so prone to the usual foolhardy things all children were wont to do; such as leaping off high places for fun. Fortunately, Riverrun’s deep moat made such things much safer, and so whenever the sun grew hot, it was traditional for the sons and daughters of Riverrun to dive from the walls of Riverrun into the Red Fork, or from the towers if one was brave enough.

 

Catelyn herself had only dared that once, from the top of a watchtower and very nearly lost her life as a result; the eighty foot fall making the water as stone; knocking her senseless and forcing Petyr to swim out and save her from drowning.

 

While she never jumped from the top of the tower again, she built up her skills and experience over the years, and had been able to comfortably make leaps from the lower sides of towers and come away with nothing but laughter. The top ramparts were not as high as the towers, but she was out of practice, having not jumped for over ten years, and for a moment, Catelyn feared she was biting off more than she could chew.

 

She need not have worried. Though she was a she-wolf now, she was a trout at heart and the blood of rivers ran through Catelyn’s veins. Even as she fell, some forgotten instinct had her arms coming together over her head, her body twisting to point her down as her legs rose upward. As the surface of the Red Fork rushed up towards her, she drew a deep breath and then she slammed into the river. 

 

The shock was greater than she remembered, but old habits died hard and as soon as she hit the water she was spreading her arms and legs wide, a necessary precaution to avoid going deeper than necessary. The other danger of diving like this, one which had killed many sons and daughters of House Tully in the past; was the sticky mud that formed the bed of the moat. Allow your arm to be driven into it by the force of your plunge and it was a good bet you would never get it out again. Even as Catelyn swam down, endeavouring to keep out of sight of the surface; she fancied she could see gleaming white bones lying on the bottom of the river.

 

These rivers were the lifeblood of House Tully, but they were also their funeral chamber. When their life was done; Tullys were returned to these rivers, and so hundreds of Catelyn’s kin lay beneath these waters. It was as if she were swimming through the family crypts; and though the pressure in her chest may just have been her need for air and not a presence watching her, she headed for the surface either way. 

 

Though the guards on the ramparts watched the water cautiously for any bubbles or sight of Catelyn’s survival, the Red Fork remained still and after a few minutes, they shrugged and walked away, sure that either the fall had killed her outright or she had drowned. A reasonable assumption, if not for the fact that Catelyn had swum in these waters more hours as a child then she could count, and knew something that they did not. Though Riverrun’s drawbridge touched the surface of the water when lowered, the Tully children had discovered years ago that the wood in the centre of the drawbridge had warped over time. Almost unnoticeable from above, this deformity had created a small hump in the bridge’s underside, a space large enough for a child’s face to break the surface and breathe.

 

A child no longer, Catelyn found herself struggling to keep the Red Fork from splashing into her mouth and nose as she hung from the underside of the drawbridge; but though she coughed and found it hard to catch her breath at times, she remained where she was for a few precious minutes, unwilling to move for fear of discovery. When she was finally sure that any pursuers would have given up, she swam for the bank and pulled herself up onto it, moving away from the castle as quickly as possibly given her exhaustion and soaked clothing, before she gasped with relief and collapsed near the edge of the Northern camp.

 

Voices shouted in alarm and Catelyn felt hands gently pull her to her feet. Forcing her eyes open, she saw that she was being supported by men whose surcoats bore the white sunburst of Karstark.

 

“Are you all right?” one asked gently, and Catelyn wept in relief; for these were Northmen. She was safe.

 

That said, she still had her duty, and so she tried to force her tired body to move, but she had no strength left, and only the Karstarks support kept her upright. With an effort, she wet her dry lips and opened her mouth. “Take” her voice was a croak, and she forced herself to be heard. “Take me to Lord Rickard.”

 

The man holding her left arm frowned. “And who would you be to…” he caught a glimpse of the direwolf pendant at her throat, and his eyes darted between the wolf and her red hair, illuminated by the moonlight, before he gasped. “Lady Stark!” He turned and shouted to another man nearby. “Go get Lord Karstark! Move it!”

 

Obeying without question, the Karstark armsman ran into the heart of the camp and the two men supporting Catelyn began to help her in that same direction. They had covered no more than half the distance before a clanking of armour indicated the rapid approach of Lord Rickard Karstark, white beard blowing in the wind, before he dropped to his knees at the sight of her.

 

“Lady Catelyn!” His eyes took in her condition; soaked, exhausted, dress ragged and feet bruised and bloodied from running over the hard stones. “What in the name of the gods?”

 

Reaching up, Catelyn grasped his hand and weakly, pulled his head towards her with all the strength she had left. It wasn’t much, but fortunately Lord Rickard understood her intention and moved towards her. With her lips perhaps two inches from his ear, she spoke in a whisper, lacking the reserves for anything else. 

 

“Riverrun. The Lannisters…”.

 

She trailed off then, and would have collapsed, but the Karstark men lowered her gently to the ground. Through her exhaustion, she could distantly pick out Lord Rickard giving hurried orders to his men, and she found the strength to smile.

 

She had done it.

 

Though Edmure Tully’s wedding was an event of sufficient importance to require the presence of the Northern nobles as well; security of the camps took precedence over even that and so two Lords had been required to stay and take the watch as usual. This night, it was the men of House Karstark who had drawn the short straw, with House Umber relieving them halfway into the night. Each House had more than enough men, however, to still make an appearance at the wedding and make their presence known. Fortune had smiled on Catelyn though she did not know it; as not only were the Karstark men already armoured and ready for battle, but the watch-rotation had been due to take place in a few minutes, meaning that the Greatjon Umber and many of his men were already awake and already grabbing for their weapons when they heard Karstark’s orders.

 

It was the work of mere minutes to organise a relief force, and soon Lord Rickard sat astride his horse at the head of perhaps thirty armoured Karstark horse. Behind him was the Greatjon; mighty greatsword in hand, leading close to ninety Umber swordsmen, men almost as large and strong as their lord.

 

Lord Rickard was not one given to speeches before battle, and given the sounds he could hear drifting across the river even now that the drinking and singing had died down; there was no time for them anyway. A single command was enough to see his cavalry fall in behind him as they galloped across the drawbridge and into Riverrun, passing under the portcullis with scarce inches to spare. Roars came from behind him as the men of the Last Hearth followed, equally determined not to let Riverrun fall. Riverrun may not be of the North, but their King had pledged an alliance with the Tullys, and the North’s honour would see them keep their word, or die trying.

  
  


The situation in the dungeons was quickly worsening for Alyssa. At first, she had dealt easily with the attacking Lannisters; armed only with knives they had stolen from around the feast or swords they had taken from guardsmen. The men from the galleys, however, were better armed and armoured and she found herself with quite a few cuts; souvenirs of those she had killed. Even that was no problem; she was used to wounds, and with none of them serious, could have kept fighting for hours before she tired. The problem had come when the Lannister troops pouring into the hallway began carrying better weapons, and from the make of them, Alyssa could identify the source instantly. At some point the Lannisters must have captured the armoury, and now their men bore longer weapons than the short and longswords they had been using previously.

 

Greatswords, polearms and spears, weapons they could not have brought on the galleys due to the sheer size were now being wielded against her, and though they learned quickly to abandon the large swords due to the cramped space, the spears were a real threat. Not only were the heavy castle-forged spearheads able to punch through her ringmail like paper, but they were long enough for the Lannisters to thrust over each other’s heads, and soon they were organised into a crude wall; a fence of bristling points three of four deep advancing steadily towards her. Alyssa lashed out at them with Bloodclaw, taking the points off two spears, but was forced to retreat when another jabbed out at her left arm, drawing blood.  

 

Eyes totally focused on the enemy in front of her, Alyssa moved back step by step while slashing and blocking spear points, but it was only when her heel hit something solid that she realized too late that she had committed one of the cardinal sins of battle.

 

She had lost track of her surroundings. Her back slammed into the bars, and it dawned on her where she was a second before a hand seized her throat in a iron grip and her air was cut off.

 

Gasping, Alyssa tried to wrench free, but the fist closed around her neck was like steel and she was afraid that she would break her own neck if she struggled too hard. The spear wall moved closer, and even as she choked, she was forced to bat away a thrust aimed at her chest. With her skin paling and her vision beginning to go dark; Alyssa desperately spun her shorter blade in her hand and stabbed out blindly behind her. 

 

An agonised scream let her know that she had hit her mark as much as the feeling of her blade sinking into flesh did, and she gasped for air as the pressure on her throat faded, the arm retreating back through the bars. Rubbing her throat, her breath coming hoarsely, she idly noted her assailant rolling on the ground in agony, clutching his bleeding arm, but then her attention was wrenched back to the battle in front of her as the spears thrust out at her again. 

 

This time the attackers were too eager; and overextended just enough for Alyssa to take advantage. Swiping out with Bloodclaw, the Valyrian blade met wood and cut cleanly through, removing the heads of half a dozen spears. Alyssa capitalized instantly, thrusting her shortsword into the arm of another, causing him to drop his own spear, and then she slashed again with Bloodclaw. With most of their weapons now nothing but useless wood, she dealt with the remnants of their formation in short order, but her eyes narrowed as she saw yet more pouring in through the doorway, led by a piggish-looking knight with a manticore on his breastplate.

 

_ Amory Lorch. _

 

A smile came to Alyssa’s lips as she doubled her efforts, determined to cut through to him and at the very least, slay the man responsible for her people’s suffering before she fell. It was not to be, however, as Ser Amory, and she used the term loosely when it came to him, saw her coming and shouted in fear, pushing through his own men as he fell back, desperate to hide in the mass where it was safe. Lip curling at his cowardice, Alyssa charged regardless, knowing that she may well not live through the hour.

 

Crashing and screams from the door stopped her in her tracks, and even as she watched, the blade of an enormous sword burst through Ser Amory’s chest. Dumbfounded, the killer of Princess Rhaenys Targaryen grasped futilely at the weapon impaling him, before he slumped forward. It may have required him half a hundred thrusts to kill a young girl, but it seemed that Lorch’s own killer was far less incompetent, as one blow was enough to finish the false knight. 

 

Eyes rolling up in a vain effort to discover who had killed him, Amory Lorch felt himself fly sideways before coughing blood when he slammed into a wall as the Greatjon disdainfully hurled Lorch off his weapon before leading his men in an attack on the now pinned  Lannisters with a battle-cry that shook Riverrun to the very stones.

 

“Last Hearth! Kill those Lannister bastards!”

 

Sensing her opportunity, Alyssa braced herself, and though the Lannisters tried to retreat from the Umber men’s unexpected assault, she held her ground and between Alyssa’s determined stand and the sheer force of the Umber attack, the remaining Lannister men were quickly routed. After one had attempted to choke her, Alyssa was in no hurry to take any more prisoners, and if the Umbers had been slow to notice men throwing down their weapons, she couldn’t find it in herself to care.

 

Laughing in relief and panting in exhaustion, she slumped to the ground, holding one of her wounds which now the adrenaline of battle had worn off, was deeper than she had thought, a cut down her left arm which would leave a nasty scar at the very least. Wincing in pain as she bound it with cloth torn from a Lannister’s crimson cloak, she looked up to see the Greatjon standing over her, eyes looking her over. Upon seeing the number of dead Lannisters behind her, he nodded in approval and offered his hand to pull her to her feet. Grimacing in pain as she took it, Alyssa rose and moved to start out of the dungeons only for Lord Umber to grasp her by her uninjured arm.

 

“Easy now, Lady Alyssa. What’s your hurry?”

 

Mouth agape at his casual manner, Alyssa was speechless for a moment before she pointed out the door in the direction of the hall. “My brother...your King…”

 

“Both fine.” The Greatjon smiled at her. “Tully may have had the most eventful wedding night ever; but the Lannisters knew better than to try for the keep without the castle in their total control, I doubt he even noticed the attack. As for King Robb” he frowned then, but only for a moment “like most at that feast, he was drugged, but unharmed. Rather than fight all those nobles and guests, the Lannisters just locked the doors of the hall and left them until later. Like your brother, I doubt he even knew what was happening. 

  
  


As for the rest of the castle, it’s under control. Karstark’s men have retaken the yard; the gate is closed so no more boats will be coming downriver, and the last of the scum has been cornered in the lower bailey. They won’t last much longer than a few minutes. The army has been alerted, and a detachment of cavalry has already been sent upriver to deal with the last of the bastards waiting to board the ships. It’s over.”

 

“That’s good.” Alyssa allowed herself to smile now, leaning back against the wall in exhaustion and relief. With the battle over, the adrenaline keeping the fatigue at bay had vanished, and she found herself wanting to do nothing more than rest. Surrendering to her desires, she closed her eyes and sighed in relief.

 

_ It’s really over. Riverrun is safe. _


	38. Arms and Swords

Alyssa sighed to herself as she sat on a chair in Maester Vyman’s quarters, waiting for him to see to her.

 

_ Finding myself here _ , she thought,  _ is becoming far too common an occurrence.  _

 

Glancing over her arm as the maester calmly removed her mail; a lifetime of professionalism having him avert his eyes at the sight of her now bare chest, Alyssa winced as she unwound the crude bandage covering her left arm. The excitement of battle had dulled the pain at first, but now that the rush had faded from her body, she could feel the burning of the cut. 

 

Vyman’s gasp as he saw it, not to mention his rush for needle and thread; had Alyssa’s heart sinking. As he passed her a small cup containing milk of the poppy and threaded a needle, the old healer hurriedly explained that the wound cut nearly to the bone; and if it was not treated soon, she would lose her arm up to the elbow. What followed was a haze of shock and fear, Alyssa unsure of how long it had been, before the maester blew out a breath of relief.

 

Finally able to put his tools down, Vyman tipped a small cup into her mouth as she lay there in a daze, and soon her vision cleared and Alyssa felt her senses return to her as the antidote removed the milk of the poppy from her body. Groaning, she sat upright.

 

“Is it over?”

 

In response, Vyman pointed to the heavy dressing covering most of her left arm, preventing her from using that hand properly. “The worst is over, my lady. But I must warn you” his eyes narrowed and his grip on her right arm became as steel. “Even with all my skills, you came dangerously close to losing it. Stitches and thread are holding your arm together, but they will not hold up to the rigours of battle.”

 

The old man grasped her chin with his free hand, and weakened still by her recent poppy daze, Alyssa was unable to resist as he turned her head to stare him in the eyes. “If you fight another battle before moon’s turn, you  _ will  _ lose your left arm. Nothing I, or any other healer can do, could prevent that. Do you understand?”

 

Horrified by the news, Alyssa quickly nodded and gingerly, rose from her bed, now aware of an incessant pounding coming from outside the maester’s quarters. Muffled shouts came from the other side of the door, words Alyssa was unable to identify but which clearly made sense to Vyman, as the old maester sighed under his breath before getting up to answer the door. Opening it partially, he glared at whoever was outside, looking angrier than Alyssa had ever seen him.

 

“I gave orders that I was not to be disturbed” snapped Vyman. Alyssa’s position prevented her from seeing whoever Vyman was talking to, but the reply, given in a low voice, had the healer pale. 

 

“Very well. Bring him in.”

He stepped aside to allow two men, supporting a third who hung between them, clutching a bleeding wound to pass through, and as Alyssa automatically moved back to let the maester use the bed for his new patient; her eyes caught on the man in question. Golden hair hung low over his face, and even while injured, he moved with a manner that suggested none could hurt him. His face turned as he moved towards the bed, and eyes flashed with mutual recognition as Alyssa saw the face of Jaime Lannister. 

 

The Kingslayer lay himself upon the bed, his guards taking up positions around him, wary of any trouble; and Vyman came over to inspect the man. As he bent over the bed, Alyssa gasped under her breath as she saw Vyman grasp the Kingslayer’s arm and raise it into the light to better see the bleeding wound in it. The nature of the injury seemed familiar to Alyssa for a moment, but as the light of the rising sun hit the bed, gleaming off golden hair; Alyssa realized both the time, morning, and the reason why that wound seemed so familiar.

 

Because she had inflicted it. 

 

_ He was the one who tried to strangle me! _

 

Looking more closely at her handiwork as Vyman reached for needle and thread, she couldn’t help but smile in pride. Her desperate blow had driven the blade of her shortsword cleanly through Ser Jaime’s lower arm, scraping the bone on the way through if she understood Vyman’s frantic mutterings to himself. With the chaos of the night’s fighting and the many wounded, taking care of loyal men had of course taken priority; with treatment for Lannister prisoners left until later.

 

The Kingslayer’s wound was serious, but only Maester Vyman had the skill to treat it, and he had been occupied with Alyssa’s own injury. Vyman had, understandably, chosen his King’s sister over an enemy combatant; and the hours spent saving her arm had left Lannster alone in his cell bleeding. Any soldier or fighter who had taken a wound knew so much depended on whether or not the wound was clean. Get stabbed by a man with a clean sword, and the thrust would probably heal clean. Get stabbed by a sword covered in blood however, and some of that blood would find its way inside the wound; leading to it festering. Disease and death would soon follow.

 

The cure for such a festered wound was cauterisation, but even that depended on how deep the infection ran. If burning it out failed, then the only remaining cure was the maggots Maester Lucas had used to save Alyssa’s leg, or at worst the course Vyman had saved Alyssa from. Alyssa had killed many men that night, and her blades were all but coated with blood from hilt to point. There was no telling how much foreign blood had entered the Kingslayer’s body, not to mention his rolling around in agony had also ground the wound into the rushes on the floor of his cell. Tiny pieces of rush, as well as other...substances...from the floor had found their way into the wound, and they had been left there for hours to irritate and infect it further. Fire and maggots could not fix this.

 

As Alyssa was motioned hurriedly out by a harried looking Vyman, she glanced back through the closing door and saw him shaking his head and preparing another dose of milk of the poppy, as well as; out of the Kingslayer’s view, a sharp knife and bone saw. Screams of horror reached her ears as the door closed, and her lips curved into a smile as she realized what was happening.

 

_ The maester’s told him that he’s about to lose his arm. Couldn’t happen to a more deserving man. _

 

As she left, humming to herself, she no longer noticed the pain from her throat when she drew breath; which the maester had said would go away in a few days, as she was content with the thought that the Kingslayer was about to lose the arm he choked her with.

 

_ The price for pushing my nephew from the tower _ she thought with dark pleasure.  _ The Seven may work in strange ways, but their justice is unavoidable. _

 

Her first instinct was to head for the sparring grounds, but Vyman’s warning rang through her head like a bell, and with a sigh she decided instead to get something to eat. It was on her way to the great hall that she turned a corner and saw her uncle there, Brynden Tully limping slightly but still smiling and moving quickly towards her. With a bright grin, Alyssa moved to meet him.

 

“Uncle!” she cried in delight.

 

Smiling, Brynden nodded in response. “Alyssa. Your timing is perfect, Edmure sent me to find you. He’s called everyone to the Great Hall.”

 

“Lead the way then.”

 

As they walked, Alyssa and Brynden exchanged tales, between them piecing together what had occurred the night of Edmure’s wedding. Upon hearing that the Lannisters had managed to drug the wine before it could be served to the guards, not to mention the wedding guests, Alyssa came to a halt and slammed her fist into her palm.

 

“The kitchens too?” Her breath hissed through her teeth, giving full view to her frustration. “Damn their eyes! How the hell did no-one see any of the bastards sneaking around Riverrun; didn’t  _ anyone  _ realise something was wrong?”

 

“Someone did.” Taken aback, Alyssa glanced up at her uncle who nodded grimly. “That wolf of the Stark boy’s was snarling and generally acting like it knew something was up; but we all just thought it was nervous about so many people around. Damn fools that we were, we locked it in the kennels for the wedding. Even then managed to break loose and kill half a dozen men.”

 

Explanation finished, Brynden opened the doors of the Great Hall and stepped aside to allow Alyssa to enter first. As she expected, Edmure and Robb were sitting on their thrones, with the assembled nobility of the Riverlands and North standing below them. A new addition, however, was Roslin, now sitting beside Edmure on a smaller throne to his left, befitting the Queen of the Trident. Ser Robin motioned Alyssa to a place near the front of the dais; where she could see her sister and niece standing, along with the Greatjon and Rickard Karstark. Brynden silently took his place beside her, and Edmure rose from his chair, raising his hand to silence the mutterings running through the hall.

 

“As we all know” he began, “last night, I wed the lady Roslin Frey.” He paused to smile at his new wife, and received a small smile in return, before his face turned far more serious as he continued. “During the wedding, Lannister men attacked Riverrun. They meant to take the castle and free the Kingslayer, and were it not for our friends from the North, would have succeeded.” 

 

Solemnly, Edmure bowed in gratitude to Robb, who nodded in acceptance of it. Straightening up, the King of the Trident cleared his throat before continuing. “While we are grateful for the aid of our Northern allies, were it not for the efforts of a select few, this castle would now be in Lannister hands regardless, and we come together today to thank them.”

 

Edmure glanced off to the side, where Utherydes Wayn held both a scroll and his metal-shod staff, and after catching his king’s eye, Utherydes slammed his staff upon the floor. 

 

“Arya Stark of Winterfell!”

 

The young girl made her way forth, Needle hanging from her right side, and the crowd burst into murmurs as Arya stood in front of Edmure, her uncle placing his hand on her shoulder firmly.

 

“Brave niece, you fought for House Tully as fiercely as any could have asked.” He glanced over at Catelyn, waiting her turn to be called. “Sister, you should be proud of your little wolf.”

 

“I am” she smiled, glancing up at her daughter, who seemed taken aback at her mother’s obvious pride. Watching the two of them, Alyssa raised her voice and let out a cheer. 

 

“Little Wolf!”

 

That sort of shout in a room filled with warriors could not be ignored, and though it was Maege Mormont who was second, Alyssa could not tell who came afterwards as the whole hall joined in the chant.

 

“LITTLE WOLF! LITTLE WOLF!”

 

Glancing up at Arya, Alyssa smiled both in congratulations and apology as she knew that like “Blackfish” or “Kingslayer”, her niece’s new nickname would follow Arya through her life. 

 

Edmure allowed the cheering to go on a few minutes more, before he raised his hand again and Utherydes staff cracked on the floor. “You have the gratitude of the Riverlands for your actions, sweet niece, and my promise of the best armor our smiths can forge when you decide which style suits you best.” Arya beamed, and though many lords chuckled behind their hands at the thought of the diminutive Arya in plate, those chuckles turned to expressions of endearment when she wrapped her uncle in a hug of thanks, before returning to her place. After waiting a few seconds to allow the room to calm a little bit, Utherydes pounded his staff again.

 

“Lady Catelyn Stark.”

 

And so it went, through all those who played a part in the previous night’s events. Catelyn was thanked for her role in fetching help, while the Blackfish was once again stated to be invaluable to House Tully after closing the Water Gate and securing the gatehouse. Edmure expressed his gratitude towards the Lords Umber and Karstark for their quick actions, which they accepted with quiet nods, simply stating to Robb that they were only doing their duty. Finally the staff pounded one last time, and Alyssa stepped forward, still taking care with her left arm.

 

“Lady Alyssa Tully.”

 

Alyssa knelt before her King, and Edmure gestured for her to rise with a wave and a smile. “Dear sister.” He glanced at the bandages covering her arm.  “Once again I find you before me badly wounded in service of House Tully, and once again I find myself unable to thank you enough. Due to your valiant stand, the Lannisters were unable to free the prisoners, Jaime Lannister among them.”

 

Robb Stark rose from his throne, the Stark family greatsword Ice strapped to his back. Edmure and Robb had discussed the matter, and concluded that due to the Lannister’s treachery, the deal struck to exchange Bloodclaw for Ice was null and void and House Stark would be keeping the greatsword as payment for the Lannister betrayal and as thanks from House Tully for their aid. “House Stark owes you thanks as well. If the Kingslayer had escaped, the Lannisters would have had no reason left to spare my father, not to mention my sister.”

 

Edmure glanced around the assembled court. “My sister has proven her loyalty to House Tully once again, as well as her skill in battle. There can be no doubt that Alyssa is my strong right hand, and none can question her ability to lead the forces of the Riverlands in my stead during the attack on the Westerlands.”

 

Outside Alyssa’s field of vision, a small door opened to the side, and Riverrun’s blacksmith nodded at Edmure, letting him know that the work had been completed. With a smile, Edmure gestured the man forward, and Alyssa watched in interest as he handed Edmure a wrapped bundle, before retreating to the side. Edmure took a grip on the wrappings before he turned to Alyssa. “You are my Hand, sister, but what is a hand without a sword to wield?”

 

The cloth fell away, and Alyssa gasped as the contents were revealed to the court. It was a sword, specifically, her sword. Her River’s Edge had been reforged by a master’s hand, and from what she could see, was like new. Her fingers wrapped around the hilt, and the familiar leather bit into her palm; it was as if her hand had been reunited with her arm. A nod from Edmure gave her permission to draw the blade, and with barely a sound as the cloth inside the scabbard dulled the noise; the blued steel flashed in the light. 

 

Glancing down the length of the blade, she could see no mark or evidence that it had been broken at all. To repair damage of that degree, the smith must have melted the pieces down and forged it anew, and yet it was to every extent the sword she remembered. The blued steel seemed to ripple in the light, and with a grin, Edmure gestured for the assembled lords to back up a few paces. 

 

Once she had enough room, she slashed the blade back and forth a few times with her single arm, getting used to the weight and balance once again. River’s Edge was far heavier than the Valyrian steel Bloodclaw, and yet as soon as her body felt the weight of her own weapon, it was like she had never put it down, she accustomed herself to it again almost instantly.

 

Despite her best efforts, a single tear of joy rolled down her cheek and the warriors present smiled at the sight, unconsciously touching their own preferred weapons. Grinning broadly, she raised the sword high, the light catching the blue steel and flowing down in streams; seemingly drenching Alyssa in water flowing from the blade.

 

“Let the enemies of the Trident fear our steel” she cried, “for the rivers once more have an edge.”

 

The Riverlords cheered at that, and she allowed the cheering to go on for a few seconds before she lowered the sword. Carefully sliding it into its scabbard while respecting her injured left arm, she clasped her hands together and glanced out over the assembled lords.

 

“As his Grace has said, I will be commanding the forces of the Riverlands when we march. As such, it’s time I announced my initial plans for the invasion of the West.” This was something Alyssa had been thinking long and hard about, even before Edmure’s ill-fated wedding. “If we are to have any hope of taking the West, we will need every man we have. We cannot afford to leave a large force in the Riverlands to defend it, but we also cannot leave our homes protected. Instead, we will reinforce key points along the Riverlands borders; strong castles in strategic locations which can hold attackers at bay long enough for our main force to return if necessary.

 

So.” She glanced over the crowd until she found the face she wanted. “Lord Jason Mallister.” The Lord of Seagard jerked to attention and glanced up at her, ready for instructions. “Your seat at Seagard is the lynchpin of our coastal defence. Should the Lannisters, or any other foe attack by sea, Seagard will be the first point of contact. It is vital, therefore, that it be sufficiently defended. You and four hundred of your men, a mixed force of archers and spearmen, shall return to Seagard to fortify its defences.”

 

The crowd murmured in approval of this plan, and Lord Jason simply nodded in acceptance. “Seagard will hold, my lady.”

 

“I know it will, my lord” she reassured him, before turning to the next on her list. “Ser Ryman Frey.” The dull-witted heir to the Crossing glanced up, halfway through a glass of wine. “The Twins is the link between the North and the Riverlands, and should Seagard come under attack, your father is the closest one who could send help. A hundred of your men will return home to bolster the defence of the Crossing.”

 

Focused on his wine, the Frey heir absently nodded before Alyssa glanced now at her new sister. “The losses in the recent fighting have all but destroyed House Tully’s own forces. Barely a hundred remain, which is insufficient to hold Riverrun in time of war. As House Frey has now joined with House Tully, a hundred Frey men will remain in Riverrun to supplement its garrison as a sign of that unity.”

 

Ryman Frey still seemed not to notice her words, but Queen Roslin was brighter than her brother, and accepted Alyssa’s words with a warm smile, already thinking about which Frey troops she wished to defend her and her new husband. Grateful that her brother’s wife had some sense, Alyssa moved on to those far closer to her personally.

 

“Lord Karyl Vance and Ser Hugo Vance.” Both named men looked up, and Alyssa favoured them both with genuine smiles. “I owe both your Houses more than I can say. When the Kingslayer invaded our lands; I called for your help and you answered; abandoning your lands and your keeps to bring your full power against him. Thanks to your sacrifices, we triumphed that day, and now it is time to repay that aid. 

 

With the Lannisters pushed back into the West, it should finally be safe to return home. Both of you will take two hundred of your men to Riverhold, gather your people and return home to reoccupy your lands and take your seats. Both of your Houses have fought with me since the beginning, and so should you decide to remain home and send a representative in your place, I will not think less of you.”

 

The look on Ser Hugo’s face told Alyssa that he at least, would likely not be returning to the field. As for Lord Karyl, he was a warrior who had only daughters as his heirs, so Alyssa knew he would remain with her. Banishing both men from her mind, she turned to the final lord she had to speak with.

 

“Lord Clement Piper.” The bow-legged Lord of Pinkmaiden looked up at her, waiting for his instructions. “Like the Lords Vance, you abandoned your seat and came to answer the call in our hour of need. Not only did you leave your own castle undefended, but you left a hundred of your men to defend Riverhold alongside my own men when we marched to battle at the Camps. I thank your men for their service in defending my home, but it is time you focused on your own. 

 

You will ride quickly for Riverhold at dawn, leading two hundred of my men, and once your arrive, you will leave them to join my garrison, while you take your men, as well as those of your people sheltering on my lands, and return to Pinkmaiden, where you will hold the castle in his Grace’s name. 

 

As for my own seat, Riverhold is the key to our western defences, and three hundred men could hold it against an army a hundred times that size for three years. Maester Lucas may be young, but the Citadel heeded my words when i asked for a raven-keeper experienced in the ways of war. His chain is heavy with links of iron, and he does not lack for courage. He knows my orders; he will hold the castle or die trying.”

 

The muttering was less approving at that, trusting a maester to hold such a crucial position, but Alyssa moved firmly onto the next matter, unwilling to allow discontent to spread before she was finished.

 

“Finally, we come to the matter of the group of light horse Lord Bracken led to Riverhold.” Alyssa glanced around the room, at the lords whose men formed that force. “Though they took severe losses in the Battle of the Woods, a small number of them remain, and now that the fighting has left the Riverlands, I have the time to divide them back into the Houses they came from and return them to said House’s command. The thirty-two men from Stone Hedge have already remained there with Lord Bracken, and the death of Lord Lyman has ended House Darry, so the riders from Darry will of course be permitted to return home if they wish.”

 

Cries of protest came from the assembled Darry men, and a broad-chested serjeant pushed his way through the crowd to stand in front of Alyssa. “Scuse me, milady, but what if we don’t want to go home?”

 

“Why?” Alyssa was unable to understand the man’s thoughts. “Why not go home to your families, what else have you to fight for?”

 

“Revenge” he said bluntly. “Ser Raymun was a good man, and a good ruler. His son treated us well too, neither deserved to be killed by Lannisters. House Darry is gone, and all us who served them will have to find work with the new lord once all this is done, but for now let us fight with you. We’ll march under the banner of the dolphin to avenge the plowman.”

 

Alyssa was unsure about this, on one hand the reinforcements would be welcome, but she felt wrong about asking more of the Darry men, who had already given so much. Before she could voice her opinion, her thoughts were rudely cut off by the serjeant.

 

“Pardon me for askin’, milady, but how many men you got left? Of those you brought from Riverhold I mean, not the whole army?”

 

At that, Alyssa sighed, both at the low number and the point she knew he was making, why sadly was quite a valid one. “Just under six hundred, and I marched with fifteen.”

 

Gasps came at that, as just how much Alyssa had lost was revealed. That level of losses would have her lands feeling the blow for years to come. Nearly every family on Riverhold lands had lost father, brother or son, sometimes all three. The serjeant nodded solemnly. “Six hundred. And if you keep takin’ the field, that’ll get smaller and smaller every battle. You fight well, milady, and your men are skilled, but if you keep throwin’ yourself into the fightin’ with so few men, you’ll eventually lose. Our families are across the other side of the Riverlands from the West, if we beat the Lannisters there they’ll never be in danger. We know the risks, and we’re willin’ to die to avenge the Darrys, who were good to us. Can you really afford to turn us down?”

 

“No.” Alyssa’s sigh had her shoulders drop as she admitted defeat. “No, I cannot. You are right, willing reinforcements are not something I have the luxury of denying. If your men wish to fight under my banner, then I’d be honoured to accept.”

 

Just like that, Alyssa added another thirty men to her forces, along with the Darry serjeant, whose bulk and heavy mace made him seem worth many men. They were not the only ones to pledge their loyalty; while Lord Lymond Goodbrook ordered his men to return home, Halmon Paege showed his gratitude for being freed from the dungeons of Stone Hedge by placing his thirty-one riders at Alyssa’s command.

 

With his seat at Saltpans far from the fighting and his forces too small to form an effective unit anymore but still wanting to contribute, the young Lord Hawick, upon receiving a raven informing him that a few of his men had survived, had followed the example of Darry and Paege by replying that they would ride under Alyssa’s banner until the war was over. Lord Ryger did likewise, bringing the number of men under the dolphin banner to over seven hundred; but though she wished to help in any way possible, Lady Shella Whent had already sent more men than she could afford, to the point where she no longer had the men to defend her massive castle of Harrenhal. Reluctantly, she ordered her small group of riders by raven to return to Harrenhal, where the thirty-two extra men would supplement her garrison, for what little good it would do.

 

Gratefully, Alyssa bowed to the Darry serjeant, as well as Halmon Paege and Lord Ryger. “I thank you all for my faith in me. I swear I will do all I can not to let you down, as well as to do my best for all who march under my banner.”

 

Strangely, it was Maege Mormont who first began the shout, perhaps in support of another woman fighter, but the cry was quickly taken up by all, as when Alyssa began the shout that gave Arya her new nickname.

 

“River Dolphin!” “RIVER DOLPHIN!”

 

Alyssa smiled at her new title, and as Riverrun’s hall filled with the noise, she allowed herself to dream of the impending attack on the Westerlands, and her chance to repay their attacks on her lands. As the shouting reached a crescendo, her brother and uncle now joining in, Alyssa stroked the hilt of River’s Edge, now back at her side where it belonged.

 

_ That reminds me… _

 

Once the commotion had died down and Edmure dismissed the gathering, allowing her to leave the hall, Alyssa headed directly to Riverrun’s treasury, where she presented Bloodclaw, belt and all, to the treasurer with instruction that the sword be locked in Riverrun’s most secure vault. Only once the steel door had closed on the Valyrian blade and locked firmly did Alyssa breathe a sigh of relief. During the fighting in the dungeon, the Lannisters had come close to killing her and reclaiming the blade, which would be a disaster to Tully morale. 

 

_ Here it can do no more harm, and we may need it later in the war to make peace if the fighting goes against us. _

 

With that thought, Alyssa turned on her heel and headed for her chambers and rest, because the army marched in two days, and she planned to be ready.

  
  



	39. Golden Tooth, Crimson Hills

Three days after the meeting in Riverrun’s Great Hall, the united armies of the North and the Trident left Riverrun. The entire castle turned out to see them leave; boys and women cheering as rank after rank of mailed men passed through the gates, banners flying. Alyssa thought to herself as she rode that she had never seen such a spectacle before; even Pyke had been mainly foot, as horsemen would have been useless storming the castle. Here though, hundreds and thousands of mounted knights were trotting along the River Road, colours waving gaily. Behind them all came the supply train; hundreds of wagons loaded with food, spare weapons and arrowheads, along with the dismantled siege engines from Stone Hedge.

 

Arya had expressed her desire to join the fighting, and after three foiled attempts to disguise herself as a soldier, Alyssa, remembering her own determination during the Greyjoy Rebellion, had sought out her sister for a private word. After swearing to guard her niece with her life, and not to let her out of her sight, Arya was allowed to accompany Alyssa as a second squire of sorts. Fortunately, Arya and Olyvar got on quite well together, and so the arrangement worked. Arya tended to Alyssa’s swords and horse, while due to her incompetence in the kitchen; Olyvar handled the cooking and maintenance of Alyssa’s armor and saddle.

 

After nearly a week on the march, the host reached Riverhold, and Alyssa offered the hospitality of her seat to the lords for the night, while outside the castle, fires burned in a ring for miles around as the men made camp. The Northmen, having not yet seen Riverhold, were impressed by the strength of the small castle, though less so by its origins when Alyssa told the story of how Riverhold came to be. The Greatjon in particular; could be seen making a face when he heard Lannister gold had built the castle, as if Riverhold’s walls could taint him with filth by their very presence. As for Arya, she was open-mouthed at her aunt’s seat, and Alyssa began contemplating taking her niece as her heir after the war, if Catelyn was agreeable, not to mention Arya herself. 

 

Taking advantage of the night spent at her home, Alyssa used the time to see to her defences. As Alyssa had hoped, Lord Piper had beaten the army there, and his men were already gone, replaced by the reinforcements she had sent. She gave orders that the men were to be drilled daily, and as for Maester Lucas, who would hold the castle in her absence, he was simply ordered not to let Riverhold fall, no matter what.

 

The other matter that had to be sorted before they left was the order of march. Now that they were getting closer to the West, the casual parade they had formed would no longer serve, and they must needs march in battle formation. The men of the Riverlands would march first, as they knew the lands they would be crossing better than the Northmen, who would take up the rear. As for who to send first, Alyssa gave the honour of leading the van, to much surprise, to Lord Lucias and House Vypren.

 

This caused some confusion, as it was known that Alyssa and Lord Lucias were not close, but Alyssa had her reasons. She knew that keeping Lord Lucias happy was key if she wanted his men, and the Vypren men were irate at their role in the war so far. First spending most of their time in the boring “siege” of Stone Hedge, and then relegated to guarding the baggage train and prisoners during the Camps and the Woods, the men of Greenwater Bound wanted a chance to win glory, and Alyssa would give it to them.

 

Her other reason was less pleasant, however. To reach the Westerlands, the army must travel along the River Road through the pass guarded by the fortress Golden Tooth. This way was the most direct route through which a Riverlands army could invade the West by land, and House Lefford was sure to have it well-defended. There would be blood before they broke through, and Alyssa would rather that blood be from the Vyprens, who were less committed to the Kingdom of the Trident, than more loyal Houses, such as the Mallisters or Freys.

 

If Lord Lucias on the other hand was weakened, Alyssa would shed few tears over it, as a decrease in his power meant a decrease in the threat he could pose. He was still a Riverman, and she would never deliberately send Rivermen into an ambush, but if one was sprung, better him than her. After Vypren she sent the men of Maidenpool. Lord Mooton had committed late, and though his men outnumbered her own by more than two to one; they were green as grass and unused to battle. Putting them in the front line would either get them some badly needed experience, or have them killed before they could do any damage to the rest of the army, she cared little either way.

 

To stiffen them, she placed the forces of House Roote behind them, and after them the power of House Frey. Only eight hundred men marched under the banner of the two-headed horse now, but they were good fighters who had proven themselves at the Camps and again at the Woods. As for the Freys, they outnumbered Mooton by more than a thousand. The presence of their sheer numbers at the backs of the Mooton men should hearten them and prevent them from running; or give them second thoughts about doing so if need be. 

 

Unable to trust to the quality of House Mooton’s levies, Alyssa had had private words with Ser Ryman, and the heir to the Crossing had his orders. If the men of Maidenpool turned mid-battle, they were to be killed. After their lord’s hesitation to commit, bordering on treason, Alyssa had run out of patience with the red salmon banner and those who served under it. Mooton’s men would fight, or they would die.

 

After the Freys, in the centre of the army and another position of honour, Alyssa’s own forces came next, Riverhold’s power battered and weakened from the fighting, but the remainder were hardened men who proudly marched on, her grey dolphin dancing overhead. At their backs, the silver eagle of House Mallister flew high as Ser Patrek Mallister, heir to Seagard, led his House’s remaining forces in his father’s stead, Lord Jason having returned to Seagard as ordered, to reinforce the port town.

 

Many had questioned Alyssa’s decision in placing those who had fought with her since the start in the rear, including Lord Karyl Vance himself, upset at what he saw as a dishonourable position. Taking him aside, however, Alyssa had quietly explained that she wanted someone she could trust at the rear to ensure both that they weren’t ambushed as they entered the Westerlands, and that they were not betrayed. A glance to Vypren showed exactly who she meant, and with a glare at the untrustworthy man, Lord Karyl withdrew his objections. He rode last, therefore, a man Alyssa knew she could trust not to turn on her, while House Vance of Atranta guarded his front, and the dancing maiden of Piper occupied the final slot on the order of march; between Mallister and Vance.

 

Sentries guarded the flanks of the camp watchfully, waiting for any attempt by the Lannisters to attack the army or supply train in the night, but it seemed that the failed effort to take Riverrun had expended most of their resources in the region, and Alyssa slept peacefully. She rose from her sleep just before dawn, and had time for a proper meal before the first light of day broke the sky. It took a little longer to break camp and get moving than she thought, more than thirty thousand men do not move quickly, but after an hour they were on the march again.

 

Riverhold was the last friendly stronghold before the Golden Tooth, and so for over two weeks the army camped by the side of the road when the day’s march was done, before continuing on the next day. At last, they reached the point where the road narrowed and curved upwards through the hills, wide enough perhaps for twenty men on horseback side by side, or thirty if they were packed tight. 

 

_ This _ , Alyssa knew,  _ is where it gets dangerous. _

 

Looming over the trail like a stone block ready to fall was the Golden Tooth, the castle sitting on the natural flat shoulder of one of the mountains flanking the pass. A small road led from the Tooth down to join the main River Road, and Alyssa knew at any moment Lefford knights could pour out and strike them in the flank as the army passed.

 

Frowning, she sent a messenger to the van, instructing Lord Lucias to scout out the road ahead before proceeding. His riders went forth, and soon returned with the message that a small Western force was dug in to defend the road ahead. Well armoured men with pikes, spears and ranks of archers behind them. Wagons had been overturned to provide some semblance of a defensive wall, and large numbers of tents had been erected in the pass behind them. Vypren estimated the enemy numbers as close to three thousand all told. This was no group of peasants; this was trained soldiers defending their homeland.

 

Here the men of the West would make their stand.

 

Of course Lord Lucias did have more men under his command, if only just, and the Lord of Greenwater Bound apparently thought that his forces could smash the Westermen’s defences aside, because he ordered his cavalry forward. His knights went first, an armoured wedge of three hundred and forty men intended to punch through the Lannister defences. After them came five hundred more lightly armoured horsemen, their role to cut down the fleeing Lannisters once the knights broke their lines. His foot marched behind, ready to mop up any remainder once the cavalry were finished.

 

Watching from his position at the centre of the Western defensive line, Ser Addam Marbrand’s smile was feral as he raised his hand, signalling to his trumpeter. A good friend of Ser Jaime since childhood, the heir to Ashemark was eager to avenge his friend’s captivity, and hurting the Rivermen would settle the score nicely. Slashing his hand down, he gave the signal and a trumpet call echoed through the hills. Jaime had fallen for Alyssa Tully’s trap at Riverhold. Now, Ser Addam would return the favour.

 

As the power of Greenwater Bound, Maidenpool and Lord Harroway’s Town approached the Western lines, Lord Vypren noted idly as he rode at the head of his men, that the banner flying over the centre of the enemy formations was not the golden lion of Lannister, but rather a burning tree on gray, the sigil of House Marbrand of Ashemark. A trumpet blew as they approached, alerting the Westermen to their approach but it was far too late to for that. He gripped his lance more tightly, ready to slam the weight of weapon, horse and his body into the enemy, but then a shadow from above drew his attention, and Lord Vypren learned a very important lesson of warfare.

 

Just because your enemy does not immediately react to your presence does not mean he will not react, or that he lacks the ability to.

 

House Lefford had held the pass for thousands of years, and destroyed many armies attempting to attack the Westerlands. They had had plenty of time to range their catapults on the road with deadly accuracy, and even though the Tooth was a small castle, unable to mount on its walls the large trebuchets used by castles such as Winterfell or Casterly Rock, the Lefford defenders had more than found a way to compensate for it. The catapults were loaded not with large boulders, but with bundles of smaller rocks tied together, each stone the size of a man’s head. The force involved in being flung from the catapult tore the bindings apart, scattering their cargo wide and the shower of rocks crashing down among the Vypren cavalry caused instant chaos.

 

Many men were killed instantly, others screaming as their horses panicked and instinctively ran off the road, dragging their terrified riders with them to their deaths, Lord Lucias among them.  A literal rain of arrows followed from the hundreds of archers stationed on the Tooth’s walls and behind the Lannister lines, killing more horses and causing a blockage that stopped the charge in its tracks. Yet more of the back ranks slammed into their fallen fellows and were unhorsed, their steeds breaking legs or throwing their riders off the edge. Chaos ensued in the small space as the Vypren cavalry disintegrated under the unexpected barrage.

 

Alyssa watched, open-mouthed, as the surprise attack destroyed the vanguard in seconds. She should have ordered a retreat at this point, but her mind was totally blank and her hands hung at her sides, useless. She simply couldn’t comprehend how utterly the Leffords had outmaneuvered her, and with many of the same tactics she had used at Riverhold, to make it worse. Shaking her head violently to snap herself out of it, Alyssa turned to the nearby messenger waiting for orders. 

 

“Tell Ser Ryman to advance and support the van. The Tooth shouldn’t be able to fire their catapults again for a few minutes, so if his men keep their shields up they should be safe from the arrows.”

 

The man nodded and raced away, and soon Alyssa was glad to see the mass of blue and grey wearing men moving up to join the fight. The weight of the Frey numbers allowed them to push their way through the dead bodies blocking the path, and soon the defenders found themselves forced to fight for real as the few remaining fragments of the vanguard gained new heart with the arrival of their Frey comrades.

 

Twin towers met burning trees and golden lions, spears thrusting back and forth and longswords slashing out, men screaming in agony on both sides and falling in pools of blood. Steel met flesh and flesh gave way as the men of the Riverlands and Westerlands grimly held on, determined that the enemy would be the first one to fall. Arrows fell on both sides as bowstrings sang and archers targeted any enemy they could see.

 

Trumpets blowing drew Alyssa’s attention to the Tooth itself, where the gates opened and a column of knights surged forth to strike the Freys in the flank, She watched as Ser Ryman’s banner swayed and finally fell as the Lefford knights did their deadly work. Even the defenders were joining in now, leaving their defences to attack with spear and sword, while arrows continued to rain on any part of the Frey ranks not already overrun with Western forces. 

 

Marbrand had chosen his defensive position with care, and the pass was too narrow for the remainder of the Tully forces to join the fight and save their comrades. Unable to bring their numbers to bear, the men of the Riverlands contributed as best they could; archers sending arrows at any exposed part of the Western line, but it was a drop in an ocean; nowhere near enough. The Northern army, trapped behind the Tullys and unable to aid in any way, could only watch, stone-faced as thousands died above them.

 

It wasn’t going all the Westermen’s way though, as with the momentum of their charge spent, the weight of the Frey ranks began to envelop the attacking knights. Acting quickly, the Lefford commander sounded a retreat, and those of his knights not already surrounded expertly turned tail, showing their experience and skill at moving in the tight conditions. Arrows rained down from the Tooth’s walls, forcing the remaining Freys back, and buying time for the rest of the Lefford knights, slightly less than three-quarters of the strength they started with, to withdraw back to the safety of the Tooth’s walls.

 

The Leffords’ retreat had Ser Addam gritting his teeth in rage, as he’d hoped to destroy the entirety of the Tully host while the tight conditions prevented them from withdrawing swiftly, but Lord Leo Lefford knew what he was doing. It was simply not possible for their men, not even six thousand in total, to destroy the Tully forces, which outnumbered them three to one, without support from the Golden Tooth, and the rest of the Tully host was just out of range of the Tooth’s defences. If they attacked, the castle could give them no support.

 

That wasn’t even considering the Stark army behind the Tullys, another twenty thousand or so men who would destroy the Lefford and Marbrand men without difficulty if they chose to attack. No, they’d done as much damage as they could right now, Lord Leo knew, and now they had to pull back, refortify and wait for the next assault. Now that they’d lost the element of surprise, this would become a long, boring affair as the Tullys would likely attempt to starve them out.  Ser Addam didn’t agree with Lord Leo’s decision, he felt they could at least have finished off the Frey forces; but his withdrawal left Ser Addam with no choice, and so with clenched fist he ordered his men to pull back.

 

With their allies clear of the line of fire, the Tooth’s archers were free to loose at will, and another wave of rocks fell among the Freys, killing many more, but with Marbrand’s men now withdrawing, the Freys were unimpeded from retreating, and the men of the Crossing were able to make their way safely out of range, close to a quarter of their number left behind. After a bare few minutes, it was over, with and Alyssa, numb with shock, ordered a retreat, pulling her army out of range of the Tooth’s weaponry to a secure, flatter spot on the border of the Riverlands and Westerlands, where she could take stock of her losses.

 

As it turned out, they were staggering. Lord Vypren was dead, along with all the men under his command. Though she hadn’t liked the man, Alyssa had no wish to see him die, and she grieved for the loss of so many men. The Mooton levies had been killed to a man as well, as had the men of Lord Harroway’s Town, and Alyssa silently apologized to the young Lord Roote for failing in the trust he had placed in her. As for House Frey, Ser Ryman had fallen in the Lefford surprise attack, along with six hundred of his men, mainly horsed.

 

Ser Ryman’s death left his son ,Ser Walder Frey, also known as “Black Walder”; in command of the Frey forces, and Alyssa would have to act quickly to ensure the Frey knight did not hold any animosity about the deaths of his men or his father. Knowing what she did about House Frey and their politics, as well as the man himself, Black Walder would curse the loss of men as it decreased the power of House Frey, but would care little for his father’s passing as it simply meant one less person between him and the Twins. All up, the ambush had cost Alyssa four thousand men, close to a full third of the Tully host. As for the Lannisters, between Lefford knights and Marbrand’s forces, they had lost slightly more than a tenth of that.

 

_ This is the worst defeat we’ve suffered since Edmure lost on the Red Fork. _

 

Standing alone in her tent after the Riverlands forces hastily made camp, thankfully the baggage wagons were at the rear of the host and untouched, Alyssa’s head was bowed as her despair overtook her. Armour gently clinked at the entrance to the tent, and she didn’t even bother to raise her head; she had given orders that she was not to be disturbed and there was only one person that wore plate armor who would come to her tent unannounced. A hand rested gently on her arm, despite the gauntlet covering it, and Alyssa looked up reluctantly to see her uncle standing there, his face inscrutable.

 

Neither spoke for a moment, Brynden content merely to stand there until Alyssa broke the silence of her own accord. After a few moments, she could hold herself back no more.

 

“How did this happen?” she burst out. “We had the Lannisters on the run, the war was all but won!”

 

“Exactly” the Blackfish’s voice was more serious than Alyssa had ever heard him as he explained their recent defeat. “You knew you’d won even before you reached Casterly Rock. You thought the Lannisters utterly beaten, that their fighting spirit was so broken along with their army that they wouldn’t dare put up a fight, and you could stroll through the West as you wanted.”

 

Alyssa flinched at that, knowing in her heart that her uncle was right, and Brynden pressed on mercilessly. “River Dolphin. The smallfolk of the Trident speak about you like you can’t be beaten, and somewhere along the way you started to believe it”

 

With a bitter sigh, Alyssa hung her head in defeat again only for her uncle’s arm to touch her shoulder again, this time more gently.

 

“This isn’t the first time you’ve fallen for a Lannister trap. You get overconfident, Alyssa, and you let the enemy dictate the battlefield to you, as opposed to the other way around.”

 

_ He’s right,  _ Alyssa thought bitterly to herself.  _ I’ve gotten arrogant in my victories. _

 

“You’re right” Alyssa looked up, a new fire in her eyes. “That has to stop now, or more men will continue to die.”

 

“That’s the girl I know” Brynden smiled. “Now, go come up with some genius plan and get us through that pass.”

 

Alyssa smiled faintly at that; no matter how old she was, her uncle would always have the ability to make her feel like a little girl whenever she made a mistake, and then be there to help her through it. Heaving a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders and left the tent, calling for those who wished to speak with her to come to council.

 

As she took her seat at the head of the small table which was all they could carry on the march, she could see Black Walder glaring at her over the other side, black beard neatly trimmed and doing nothing to hide his expression of displeasure. Clenching her hands together to hide any trembling, she placed them on the table in front of her and looked over them.

 

“My apologies, my lords.” With Maege Mormont and her daughters absent, Alyssa felt no need to add ‘my ladies’, and so instead turned her attention towards Black Walder. “My condolences, Ser Frey, for the death of your father. He died nobly, fighting for the Riverlands.”

 

“He died because you were a fool” the dark-haired man responded coldly. “Died along with six hundred of our men for it.” 

 

Alyssa bowed her head in acknowledgement, but her mind was elsewhere as she saw the Greatjon shift angrily in his seat. With Roslin now her brother’s Queen, the Freys were tied to the Tully cause as tightly as possible. Black Walder might say what he wanted for the sake of it, but both knew he was not about to leave. The Northmen on the other hand, were a different story.

 

Unlike the Rivermen, who were fighting to avenge the damage done to the Riverlands, the Northerners were in this war to free their beloved Lord Eddard and his imprisoned daughter; and neither of them was in the Westerlands. Saving them would require marching on King’s Landing, and only the danger of being struck in the rear by the new army Tywin Lannister was mustering had convinced them to attack the West. 

 

The threat of the new Lannister host had to be removed, but one more defeat like this and the Northmen could very well decide to attack the capital regardless. That would be disastrous, as though Alyssa was loath to admit it, the Riverlands forces lacked the strength to take the West without the aid of the North, especially now.

 

“I understand your anger, Ser Walder, the Lannister have lured me into a trap twice now. I promise you, there will not be a third time.”

 

“That’s all well and good” growled the Greatjon, “but now they know we’re coming. And since they just ran us off, any chance of them surrendering before our numbers just went down to zero. Any morale gains you made with your victories in the Riverlands were wiped out today.”

 

“He’s right” Black Walder rejoined the conversation. “They’ll be better prepared now, and expecting another attack, this pass will be reinforced before too long. So, ‘River Dolphin’” his voice would brook no falsehoods, “can you find a way?”

 

After a moment, Alyssa looked him in the eyes. “I don’t know yet” she answered, “but I can tell you this, Ser. If there is a way, I will find it. Now if you will excuse me, my lords, I must think.”

 

She pushed her chair away from the table and strode back to her own tent, not daring to look behind her. Standing in front of her own table, she unrolled a map of the region and looked over it carefully, trying to find a way to bypass the Western army in the pass, or at least find a way to get some of her heavy cavalry in position behind them. Immediately, she discounted the main roads, too obvious and heavily defended. A sea approach was out as well, unless she could find a way to defeat the Lannister fleet, or at least avoid it. Since it numbered at least twenty warships, and the only fleet Alyssa had access to was the Mallister fleet of eight, that was unlikely to say the least. 

 

That left finding some route through the mountains that the Lefford’s hadn’t managed to discover in their millennia holding the pass. Not a good proposition. Alyssa’s eyes scoured the maps again, but she kept seeing the same things. Aside from the roads, the only break in the mountains was the courses taken by the two rivers that flowed down from them. What the men of the Riverlands liked to forget is that the rivers they were so proud of began in the Westerlands. The Red Fork began in the western mountains, the rocks and mud collected on 

its way down giving it its name, and joined with the Blue and Green Forks to form the mighty river Trident that the region was known for.

 

Alyssa briefly considered sending boats up the Red Fork; the river was wide and slow-moving afterall, so perfect for an amphibious attack, but a quick glance at the map discounted that idea. The Red Fork began as only a trickle, and grew wider and deeper as it flowed downward into the Riverlands. For any attack to succeed, the invading force would need to move past the Golden Tooth and into the heart of the Westerlands, before turning back to strike the pass’ defenders in the rear. The Red Fork, regrettably, was not wide enough for boats until it neared the Tooth, which was too close to attempt an attack. The garrison would see it coming and the banks would be well-defended by the time boats arrived.

 

The other river running through the Westerlands, and the only other natural route into the region was the Tumblestone, but that river ran swift and deep, leading Alyssa to discard it almost immediately. A shame too, for the Tumblestone began deep in the Westerlands and widened rapidly. At the point they would need to disembark to attack the Tooth, the river was more than sufficiently large for the task. Longingly, she took a second glance at it, but sighed as she admitted defeat. 

 

The current was far too fast to row upstream, and though poling a boat against the current by pushing long poles into the riverbed was a proven way of travelling upriver, it was slow, and the Leffords would have more than enough time to ready themselves for their arrival. Suddenly she flicked the map off her table and reached for another, carefully examining the banks of the Tumblestone. Luck was with her, as the river’s banks were high all the way to the border, a low boat with no sail should be able to pass unnoticed along the river, especially if no-one was looking for it.

 

_ Everyone knows the Tumblestone is impassable against the current, _ Alyssa thought to herself with grim joy,  _ just as I knew the Lannisters were beaten. Uncle Brynden was right, we only know what we can prove.  _

 

She turned to leave the tent, only to stop in her tracks as another problem occurred to her. 

 

_ True, sending troops up the Tumblestone may be unexpected, but even then, I can only keep that a secret for so long. The more men I move up the river, the greater the chance of being detected. If that happens, they’ll strengthen their defences to the rear and all this was pointless. _

 

Rocking back on her heels, she tapped her chin for a moment as she thought carefully.

 

_ I don’t think I can risk sending more than a thousand men, but that isn’t enough to break through. _

 

_ Even if we disrupt the defenders by hitting them in the rear, the Golden Tooth is still close enough to make any attack we launch bloody indeed. What we need is a way for a small unit to deliver a devastating blow, and at the very least, force the defenders to retreat. _

 

Thinking of the barren mountains around them, Alyssa briefly considered having the thousand men come up from behind and closing the road; thereby cutting the Westermen’s supply line, but she immediately rejected that idea.

 

_ Even if they don’t eat for a few days, they’ll have weeks to bring in more food; the Tooth alone must have enough supplies stored to feed hundreds of men for moons if not years. _

 

Glaring at the map, Alyssa absently reached for her waterskin to moisten her dry mouth. Shaking it, she frowned at the small amount of liquid she could hear splashing around.

 

_ I’ll have to get more.  _

 

Gulping down the last of her water, she sighed at the thought of having to subsist on two waterskins a day from now on. Having fought all her wars in the Riverlands, where the rivers had so many tiny streams coming from them they couldn’t be drawn on maps; supplying their armies with water was one problem the lords of the Trident never had while on campaign. You simply made camp next to a decent sized stream and your troops could have as much as they could boil and drink. 

 

The dry, rocky pass, however, was lacking in any form of water source; the closest being the well inside the Golden Tooth, and even though the allied armies were no longer on the road itself; they were still far enough away from a river to require that the men ration their water. Shaking her head absently, Alyssa glanced at her now empty skin, before shrugging and leaving to refill it.

 

_ At least we know the Lannisters must be having it worse than us. With over three thousand men, the Tooth’s well can’t possibly be supplying them all, they’d never be able to get the water out of the castle to enough men each day. They must be bringing wagons up from somewhere else… _

 

A gasp burst from her lips, and she glanced again at the map to make sure her suspicions were right, A quick calculation gave her the answer, and her lips drew into a smile.

 

Racking her brains for everything she knew about river travel as well as boat building, Alyssa called for Arya and Olyvar, and bade them call Ser Patrek Mallister to her tent along with Black Walder Frey. The Mallister and Frey lands lay along the Blue Fork, the fastest river in the whole Riverlands, and if any could help her with this endeavour, it would be them.

 

The heir to Seagard was a man only a few years younger than Alyssa, and he greeted her with a smile. A bright person, he provided the perfect counter to Black Walder’s grim disposition, and his positive support was enough incentive for the Frey knight to at least think seriously about the possibility of Alyssa’s plan succeeding. After a moment, he nodded and then began offering suggestions to improve the scheme. 

 

The candles had burnt low late into the night by the time they were satisfied, but glancing over their plan one last time, Black Walder stated that it was as sound as possible, and more importantly, not something the Lannisters would even think of the Tullys trying. Alyssa grinned at that, and though only Ser Patrek smiled back, her enthusiasm wasn’t dampened. After she thanked the two men and dismissed them, she made sure to get her uncle’s seal of approval for the plan, before sending riders back into the Riverlands to begin gathering or confiscating under her seal the large number of boats needed to transport the Frey and Mallister men upstream. Once that was done, she instructed her uncle to call a war council in the morning, before heading for her bedroll, since the hour was now quite late, and falling asleep with a satisfied smile.

 

_ You may have bested me today _ she thought,  _ but my next strike you won’t see coming. _


	40. And Not a Drop to Drink

One of the best things about being King in the North, was that Robb was never called to take watch duty in the camps with his men. Galbart Glover, Master of Deepwood Motte commanded when it was House Stark’s turn, allowing his King to sleep as long as he pleased. This meant that when a messenger arrived eight hours after dawn, informing him that the Lady Hand had called a war council and requested his presence as soon as convenient; it was with a yawn and a groan that Robb rose from his bedroll and called for his squire to help him dress.

 

He was among the last to arrive, the Riverlords already seated near Alyssa, who, as with every war council Robb had ever seen her at, was standing around a large map spread out on the table. A cluster of wooden pieces marked the location of their own forces, while a few more indicated the positions of the defending army and Golden Tooth which had foiled their last attack. Robb sank into his seat at the other end of the table with a sigh, the Lords of the North surrounding him.

 

Glancing up at Alyssa herself, Robb’s eyes narrowed as he assessed her condition. For a commander who had sent a third of her army to their deaths two days ago, her eyes held a strange look of determination. She was dishevelled, and clearly tired, which matched up with what he had heard; namely that she had spent most of the previous day sending her outriders as close to the enemy lines as possible without them coming under attack. For all that though, she was glancing at the map and clasping her hands together, the picture of confidence.

 

Growling curses at being woken so early, the Greatjon pushed past Robb, muttering an apology as he took his own seat, and the silence was broken as Alyssa cleared her throat, drawing every eye towards her.

 

“Thank you for coming, my lords. My apologies for the early hour of this meeting, but I swore to you, Lord Umber that you would know as soon as I found a way to pass through the mountains.” Her words, as well as smile of regret seemed to mollify the Greatjon slightly, and he accepted with a quiet grunt.

 

Others, however were neither so quiet nor so forgiving. “Pass through the mountains?” Lord Karyl Vance uttered incredulously. “My lady, I’ve seen your abilities, but this is folly!”

 

“Aye” echoed Maege Mormont, the gruff warrior woman fingering her spiked mace as she glared at Alyssa. “We all saw what happened last time you tried to force your way past the Tooth, and those mountains are impregnable. How many more need to die before you see sense?”

 

Alyssa seemed to accept their comments silently, almost, Robb noticed, as if it were her due, before she raised her hand for quiet. Between the Riverlords own respect for her, shakened by the events of two days ago but not yet shattered; and the Greatjon, eager to find out what was so important to wake him at such an ungodly hour bellowing for silence, the noise soon died away.

 

“I understand your doubts, my lords, but I promise you I have no intention of launching another frontal attack. At least, not immediately.”

 

Deliberately, she trailed off, letting the question settle in everyone’s minds, and waiting for someone to jump at the bait she had left. As it turned out, it was the Greatjon who bit the hook.

 

“Then why the hell did you wake us all if you aren’t planning to attack?”

 

Shouts of agreement accompanied this, but before they could grow into a full cacophony, Alyssa raised her hand again and the building chaos faded away.

 

“I am planning an attack, Lord Umber, just not via the River Road.”

 

Stunned into silence by that, the room was quiet as Alyssa stood from her chair and reached over the map. “There’s more than one way to enter the West. Since the land approach won’t work” she took one of the pieces representing their army and placed it on the Tumblestone; “we’ll go by water.” She moved the token up along the river, before placing it behind the Westermen in the pass.

 

“Are you mad?” Lord Karyl burst out. “You’re a woman of the Riverlands, my lady, you know as well as any other man or woman of the Trident that river runs too fast to travel upstream.”

 

“I do”. Alyssa’s unaffected tone had the Lord of Wayfarer’s Rest taken aback. “But I also know, as you do, Lord Karyl, that no-one knows more about travelling against a river’s current than we of the Riverlands.”

 

“True enough” Lord Karyl sighed. After a few moments, he threw up his hands and sank deeper into his chair. “Very well, I concede. What’s your plan, my lady?”

 

With Lord Vance backing down, no-one else was willing to show opposition, at least for the moment, and Alyssa took the opportunity she had been given. 

 

“A small, mixed force of spearmen and archers; no more than a thousand, will travel back into the Riverlands and cross the Red Fork, making for a point on the Tumblestone. There they will board boats and sail, row and pole their way up the river if necessary, until they reach this point” she tapped a finger on the map, “here. 

 

They will then leave the river where the ground is lower and swing back onto the River Road, allowing them to come up behind the Lannister forces camped on the road and disrupt their defences. With the defending army’s formations in disarray and their lines turned to the rear to deal with that attack, our cavalry will charge down the road and strike them from behind.”

 

Ser Marq Piper, whose lands bordered the Red Fork, was now staring at the map thoughtfully, as were all the nobles who knew something of river travel due to the geography of their holdings. “It could work, my lady, but there are over three thousand men defending that road, not to mention the garrison in the Tooth itself. What makes you think such a small force could break their lines?” He glanced over at Sers Patrek Mallister and Walder Frey, both uncharacteristically silent as they sat there watching. “Your houses know more about travelling upriver than anyone else here, what say you of this?”

 

Ser Patrek hesitated, but seeing that the Frey knight was in no hurry to explain, merely smiling slightly at their confusion, he cleared his throat, feeling every eye in the room fix upon him as he did so. “My lords, Lady Alyssa already ran her scheme past Ser Walder and I the previous night. We aided her in planning the details, and personally, I have every faith in its success, as I believe you will when you hear her full strategy.”

 

“You knew?” Robb was unable to contain himself any longer, and he rose from his seat in indignation, now glaring at Alyssa. “You told two of your own bannermen before you told the leader of your allies?”

 

Alyssa stared back, unblinking in the face of Robb’s glare. “After the disaster of two days ago, I felt it best to ask for expert advice to ensure there were no flaws in my plan. Houses Frey and Mallister know the most about the subject, and so I asked for their assistance. There was no ill intent, Your Grace, even my closest counsellor did not know.” She glanced towards the Blackfish, sitting faithfully at her right hand as always, and Brynden answered the questioning looks he was given with a simple nod, confirming that no, he knew nothing of this.”

 

Suitably mollified, Robb sat back down, and Alyssa took a breath, thankful that confrontation was averted. With a grateful look at Brynden, who simply nodded, she deliberately took a drink from her waterskin, carefully making sure that all present could see.

 

“As Ser Marq said” she began again, “a thousand men lack the strength to break the enemy lines, and sending any larger force risks detection by the enemy. Fortunately, however, that is not what I intend.” She rested her hand for a moment on the small group of pieces representing the defenders. “When we think of cutting supply lines, we think of food, arrow points, armour, medical supplies, replacement weapons. All the things an army marching needs. The terrain of that pass, however, introduces another key element that their troops must be supplied with.”

 

She held up her waterskin, shaking it so the liquid could be heard splashing inside, and light began to dawn on the faces of a few of the brighter lords. “A man in reasonably good shape, in a normal environment, drinks close to a gallon of water a day. A soldier in armor, in dry conditions will use almost double that. An encamped army, when you include washing and cooking, uses roughly three gallons of water per man each day. With close enough to thirty-five hundred men encamped in that pass, they require almost eleven thousand gallons of water each day.

 

Aside from the wells in the Golden Tooth, which could not practically get that much water to that many men each day, the closest water source large enough to supply them is the Tumblestone. A loaded wagon full of water could make that distance in perhaps half a day, so including the time to unload at the camp, that means water wagons must be moving back and forth between their camp and the river almost constantly.” Alyssa checked the sums she had previously worked out on a piece of parchment. “Eleven thousand gallons is close to four hundred tons of water. Now, the largest wagons we have at Riverhold can carry two tons of weight, and so unless the Lannisters have somehow created a better wagon without our knowledge, then it seems safe to assume the same. That means that to carry forty tons of water per day, they will need a column of twenty wagons. 

 

If something were to happen to those convoys” Alyssa stated with mock concern, “that would leave those men very thirsty very quickly.” Many more were now smiling, and with a nod, she pointed at the map once more. “After leaving the boats, the thousand men sent will push along the River Road as quickly as they can, intercepting and burning as many of the wagons as they can before they come into range of the camp. Once they have destroyed as many as they can, they will take up position on the River Road behind the camp, blocking the road and preventing them from resupplying their water via the river.”

 

“No commander worth his salt relies on supplies arriving on time” added Ser Walder Frey, “so they must be sending convoys out to get tomorrow’s water, and using the water that arrived yesterday. They will likely have one day’s reserve, mayhaps two, but after that, well” Black Walder’s smile was cold and cruel as he imagined the state of the Westermen after their supplies ran dry, and Alyssa took up where he had left off. “It takes three days for a man to die of thirst. They won’t wait that long, after a day or two or dry throats they’ll attack the men blocking their way, trying to break through to the river.”

 

Her grin then could have made a shark jealous, as she finished laying out the situation. “At that point, the commander of those men will send the signal, and our cavalry will advance along the River Road, striking them in the rear while they’re preoccupied with the men behind them.” Suddenly her grin faded as she looked down at the floor for a moment. “Unfortunately, the defenders in the Tooth will be alerted by this, and the cavalry will come under attack from the castle walls. Hundreds will die, mayhaps thousands, there’s nothing we can do about that.

 

However” she added with a finger raised to stop any interruption in its tracks as she continued, “since the Westermen will be advancing to attack  _ our  _ defence, they will be moving far enough away from the Tooth that the garrison can’t support them. This time around, the Westermen won’t be blocking the road and holding our men in the kill zone for the Tooth to rain arrows on, if the cavalry ride fast and ignore the casualties around them, they’ll soon be out of danger. From there, their numbers and momentum should easily punch through the three thousand defenders, especially when caught between hammer and anvil, and with the road now in our hands, the Tooth may well yield.”

 

Still holding the waterskin, Alyssa found another use for it aside from a demonstration aid, and gulped down half a skin to soothe her dry throat. Sighing in relief, she glanced up at the nobles around her, all now listening intently to her words. “This scheme has been carefully thought out, my lords” Ser Patrek implored those around him, “and with aid from our allies from the North, I think it will work.”

 

“The North?” Robb rubbed his still forming beard in thought as he turned to Alyssa. “What part would you have us play in this?”

 

Alyssa drummed her fingers on the table as she glanced at Robb. “To be most effective, the archers sent upriver must be as far away from the camp as possible; both to increase the time they have to fire at the Westermen when they attack, and to reduce the threat posed to them from the Tooth. Longbows have the most range, but they require skilled users, especially when firing at extreme distance. 

 

For that, we will need men who have all but mastered the longbow. House Blackwood provides the most skilled bowmen in the Riverlands but unfortunately for us” Alyssa sighed, voice showing her regret, ”the entirety of the Blackwood strength save Raventree’s garrison was destroyed when Lord Tytos made his stand on the Red Fork.”

 

She swept her eyes over the Northern lords, before returning her gaze to Robb. Before she could speak, Robb interrupted her. “The longbow is a more commonly used weapon in the North than along the Trident; so I have more bowmen at my disposal than you did, even before Red Fork. Is that what you were going to ask, Lady Hand?”

 

Flushing at being so easily anticipated, Alyssa nodded nonetheless. “Yes, and if you and your bannermen, your Grace, lend us even five hundred of your best bowmen, that would go a long way towards ensuring the success of this attack.”

 

Alyssa was silent, glancing at Robb as she waited for his response, as was the room. The King in the North rubbed his chin again, glancing for a moment at the ceiling as he weighed the potential risk to his men against the possible gain if this succeeded. After a minute or so, he nodded shortly to himself before turning to Alyssa.

 

“The North will offer what help we can. Master Galbart! Lord Halys!” Two men came forward at their King’s call, one of whom Alyssa already knew as Galbart Glover, the Master of Deepwood Motte, the Northern equivalent of a landed knight. The other, Robb introduced as Halys Hornwood, Lord of the Hornwood. “Master Galbart controls vast areas of the Wolfswood, and Lord Halys domain includes the entirety of the Hornwood. Both Houses have many skilled hunters at their command; you won’t find better archers in all the North.”

 

Alyssa greeted both men with smiles and clasped forearms, and on their KIng’s command, both agreed to supply the required bowmen. Marking that issue on her parchment as being solved, she glanced around the room. “Are there any other questions, my lords?”

 

Ser Marq folded his arms, glancing at the map. “If the point of attacking by river is to surprise and burn the wagons, then why not bring cavalry? The men will need to move quickly and horses can run for longer than men?”

 

Alyssa resisted the urge to roll her eyes at this, and she could see she was not the only one. A tall, broad-shouldered blond warrior, Ser Marq Piper embodied the words of his House “Brave and Beautiful.” Crucially, however, “intelligence” was not mentioned in those words. A mounted knight by preference, Ser Marq’s favoured fighting style was charging at the enemy at the head of a group of armoured horse. More subtle ways of war were not his specialty.

 

“Because, Ser” emotionless as ever, Roose Bolton’s pale skin gave Alyssa the shivers when she looked at it, as always; “horses are louder than men. The key to this scheme’s success is surprise and speed. Horses aid one element and hinder the other. Not to mention fitting all those horses on small boats.”

 

“Lord Bolton is right” Alyssa added. “Sending cavalry for this is impossible. No, the best we can do is to take horses from the smallfolk of the Westerlands. The commander of the river force must have his men take every plough and farm horse they come across on their way to the pass.”

 

“Now that you mention that” the Greatjon called out suddenly, “who is commanding those men? I don’t want good Northmen sailing under the command of some fool?”

 

The Northern lords grumbled their agreement, and Alyssa cursed under her breath, as this was one thing she hadn’t thought of.

 

_ Damn it all! Of all the details to forget! _

 

Normally, she would have volunteered to lead the attack herself immediately; her preferred armour and fighting style left her right at home fighting beside light infantry, but after the disaster of two days ago, she knew that she had to restore the lords confidence in her command ability before she could lead an attack again. Showing them how well she could fight personally would prove nothing, it was her ability as a commander and strategist that was in question at the moment, not her skill as a warrior.

 

“I will”. The voice came from beside her and Alyssa whirled to see her uncle rising from his chair, calmly looking around the room. “I can lead the attack up the Tumblestone.”

 

The Greatjon nodded in satisfaction, as did many of the Northerners; including Glover and Hornwood, both more than willing to trust their men to the command of a legend like the Blackfish. Alyssa however, saw only her most trusted counsellor and closest relative volunteering for an incredibly dangerous task. Before she could speak a word, however, Brynden glared at her out of the corner of his eye, warning her to say nothing and then continued speaking as if nothing had happened.

 

“If there are no objections, my lords, then it seems our course of action is decided. If you will excuse me, my lords, I must prepare.”

 

With a bow at Alyssa, Brynden left the tent and with nothing more to say the war council soon broke up. The lords left the tent one by one; either heading for food, more sleep or whatever else suited them. Brynden remained behind, and once Maege Mormont had left with a knowing wink at the Blackfish, Brynden sighed, and glanced at Alyssa, who was still fixing him with a look equal parts question and frustration.

 

“Sorry about that, Aly” he said, a smile on his lips as he used Edmure’s favoured name for his niece, “but this has to be done.”

 

“Why?” Alyssa questioned, hands clasped together. “Why is it so important that it be you; I need you here to advise me in case this goes wrong.”

 

“That is why I  _ cannot  _ be here.” Brynden frowned at her. “There’s nothing wrong with seeking advice from your counsellors, Alyssa, but when you grow to depend on my counsel, that is a problem. I noticed it, and many of your bannermen have begun to do so as well.” He clapped a hand on her shoulder, firm, but comforting at the same time. “If you’re going to win them back, I need to do this. When this plan succeeds, there can be none who say that this was down to the Blackfish’s strategy. This is  _ your  _ scheme, Alyssa, you, the Mallisters and Freys planned this. Whether it leads us to victory or defeat, the fruits of this venture belong to you three, and no other.

 

Oh, I’ll do my part and burn those wagons, no fear of that” Brynden reassured her, “but truthfully near anyone could do that. Your concern now should be choosing the man to lead the cavalry attack. If you’ll take my advice one more time before I leave, it shouldn’t be you. I’ve already said the reason why, but ultimately its your choice.” He smiled at her and ruffled her hair with a gauntleted hand. “Now, I honestly do have preparations to make if my men and I are to leave tomorrow, so by your leave, my lady.”

 

Alyssa hesitated, before embracing her uncle briefly and then stepping away, smiling as she nodded for him to go. Amusement playing about his own lips, the Blackfish strode from the tent and Alyssa was left staring at the map, before she shrugged and headed for her own bedroll, determined to get a little more sleep before the noonday sun’s heat made that impossible.

 

At first light next day, Brynden and his men left for the Riverlands. They were all horsed, many of the light cavalry having temporarily sacrificed their steeds to allow the archers and spearmen to move faster. An extra hundred men rode with them, who would walk the horses back once the other men had boarded the ships. Brynden himself had exchanged his plate armour for leather and mail, though his battered but faithful shield was at his back and his longsword was at his side as always.

 

Alyssa had risen early to see them off, and as Brynden cantered his horse up to her to say farewell, she refrained from embracing him in front of the men; wary of both their reputations, and instead settled for clasping his hand. As he turned to leave, Alyssa snapped her fingers as if remembering something. “A moment, Ser. Quickly, she dug through the bag at her feet until she came up holding a small pot about the size of her hand, which she handed to Brynden, the Tully knight taking it with confusion.

 

“And what is it I’m to do with this?” he asked, eyes not leaving the pot.

 

“Signal your success” Alyssa answered with a smile. “That pot contains a special kind of cooking oil; it’s dirty and smokes more than any other kind of oil you’ll find. Maester Lucas mixed it for me that night at Riverhold; I thought it might come in useful. When you’ve burned as many wagons as you can before reaching their camp, throw that into the last fire. The smoke is thick and black, and will easily be seen over the mountains, and will allow us to ready ourselves. From the moment we see that smoke, the cavalry will be ready to charge at a moment’s notice, as soon as the outriders detect sounds of fighting to the rear.”

 

Understanding the situation, Brynden simply nodded before placing the oil carefully in his saddlebag. Glancing to the sun, he saw the first rays striking the path ahead of them, and with the rocks glowing in the early morning light, it was time. “Farewell, my lady. May the Seven watch over you.”

 

“And may they guard you and your men from harm, Ser.”

 

With a tilt of his head, Brynden tapped his heels into the side of his horse and then his men were off, over a thousand cavalry moving quickly east towards the Tumblestone. Yawning, Alyssa sent a prayer to the Seven to protect her uncle and then went back to her bedroll.

 

The weeks that followed were dull as the Tully and Stark hosts waited for Brynden and his men to accomplish their mission. For this plan to succeed, the Westerners must not be permitted to withdraw and make their camp on the other side of the pass, and so the Rivermen and Northerners were forced to make their presence known on a regular basis, moving men just close enough to be out of the Tooth’s range but still present a threat to Westerlands if allowed to pass through. With clear evidence of the danger the enemy presented, the defenders were compelled to remain where they were, cursing the persistence of the men trying to invade their homeland.

 

Alyssa occupied herself with training and sharpening herself back to a fighting edge. The moon Maester Vyman had forbidden her from fighting for passed a week into the wait, and with her left arm now fully healed, she put it to good use, spending hours in the training ground each day until it could wield her shortsword with the same speed and agility as ever. At the end of each day, she headed to the map and moved the wooden boat a thoughtful Umber man had carved for her a little further up the Tumblestone, representing the distance she thought Brynden’s forces had travelled that day.

 

It was at the end of the third week that it happened. Coming back from practise, Alyssa was exhausted and thinking of nothing more than a bath when a flicker of black caught her eye. Instinctively, she turned and her face broke into a smile as she saw clear as day; a large column of black smoke rising over the mountains. Her uncle had done it. 

 

Ser Addam Marbrand was bored. That was not a usual state for a soldier, but the last few weeks had been deadly dull. It was almost like a siege; they couldn’t retreat from their position, but if they attacked, the enemy would crush them in moments. As long as they remained where they were, however, they were safe. The Westermen had cover from the Golden Tooth, as well as their own archers and their earthworks, and so the heir to Ashemark swallowed his boredom as the standoff came into its third week. He was almost glad when the messenger came running into camp looking as if the hounds of hell were at his heels; even though the man clearly brought bad news, at least it meant something was happening.

 

“Ser Addam! Ser Addam!”

 

The Marbrand knight ran a hand through his copper hair, sighing in frustration at the man’s clear nervousness. Whatever had happened, was clearly not good.

 

“What is it, man?”

 

Instead of answering, the messenger pointed to the rear, and Addam’s eyes widened as he saw the smoke rising from the west, he judged less than three hours from the camp. A closer look had his eyes narrowing; that smoke was too thick to be natural. That was burning wood and oil; someone had fired something along the road, and he had a horrible feeling he knew what.

 

“Speak!”

 

Gulping the messenger steeled himself to deliver the bad news. “Yes, Ser. The enemy got behind us somehow. They ambushed us at the river, and burned the water wagons; destroyed every one they could.”

 

“They cut our water supply?” Ser Addam gasped.” This news was beyond bad, this was almost the worst news he could have heard. “How many wagons did we save?”

 

The man glanced down, drawing attention to the triple seashells on his doublet; signifying the man was of House Westerling, before he answered with a sigh. “Not many, ser. Five, plus however many were in camp unloading water at the moment.”

 

“Another five” Ser Addam answered automatically, before his mind registered what he had just said. “Ten? Are you saying we only have ten wagons left?”

 

“Yes, Ser.” 

 

Addam cursed and began mentally calculating how they would survive with half their daily requirement of water. “All right. Send a message to all commanders and serjeants in the camp. Strict water rations from this day on. A gallon of water per day for each man for drinking. The remaining water will be saved for cooking; bathing or washing clothes is hereby forbidden. Any man wanting a bath or to wash something will have to march down to the river and do so there. And each man may only do so once every three days. Any found exceeding their ration or stealing water will be flogged.”

 

Strangely, the Westerling man simply stood there, staring at his feet instead of running off to relay Ser Addam’s orders, and the Marbrand knight felt his patience snap.

 

“Well?” he barked at the fool just standing there. “What are you waiting for? You have your orders!”

 

“Ser”... The man’s voice was hesitant, as if he did not wish to say what came next, and Addam held back a groan.

 

“Tell me.”

 

“After they burned the wagons, Ser, they pulled back a couple of hours away and set up camp on the River Road there, blocking our route to the river. They let me go to tell you that no armed man of the West will be permitted access; and that if we wish for water, all we need do is yield.”

 

The heir to Ashemark sucked in a sharp breath. “Are you saying that at this moment our water supply lines have been completely cut?”

 

“Yes, ser.” The man waited a moment more, before quietly asking the question that in truth, was worrying Addam as well. “Ser, if we can’t get to the river, how long can we last?”

 

“Not long” was Addam’s reply, honest as it was brutal. “We still have a day’s supply of water that we collected yesterday, and the few wagons you managed to save, but even on half rations that won’t last us more than two days, three if we stretch it. After that” he shrugged his shoulders, “well then three days from that point we’ll all be dead.”

 

“What can we do, ser?” The man pleaded, all but begging his commander to have an answer.

 

Even as Addam opened his mouth to reply, his mind was desperately searching for a response. 

 

_ What  _ can  _ we do? We could send Lord Tywin a raven, ask him to come here with his cavalry and break through the enemy lines; but he’s over a week away even with all his men horsed. Unless he drove his men as hard as he could; we’d be dead by the time he arrived, and if he did that, the horses would be near dead themselves and in no shape to fight. His cavalry would be easy meat for the men blocking the road. Actually, that’s a thought. _

 

“These men who burned the wagons. How many were there? Did you see who led them?”

 

The messenger bit his lip in worry. “I did, ser. Close to a thousand they were, spears and longbows. I saw their sigils, but I’m no good with that sort of thing.”

 

“Tell me what you saw then” Ser Addam forced a note of encouragement into his voice. “Mayhaps I can help.”

 

“All right then” the man smiled. “Let’s see here” he frowned in concentration for a moment, his brow visibly furrowing under his half-helm as he thought. “The first one I saw was a bird of some sort. A silver one, on a purple field.”

 

“Mallister” Ser Addam stated firmly, as if there could be no doubt. “The silver eagle of House Mallister of Seagard. What else?”

 

“Another silver one, a fist this time. On red.”

 

“Silver fist?” That took a little more thinking, but eventually the Marbrand knight recalled where he had seen that banner before. “The tourney at Lannisport, of course” he cried aloud. “A mailed fist you mean.”

 

“Aye, that’s it.”

 

“House Glover of Deepwood Motte; vassals to the Starks of Winterfell.”

 

“That’s two then” the man smiled. “The last one was some strange brown animal with big horns on an orange field. Never seen the damn thing before. Must be some Northern thing.

 

_ Northern animal with horns on orange… _

 

Ser Addam was fond of puzzles, and it took him not long at all to piece this one together. “A moose.” The Westerling man looked puzzled, and with a sigh, Ser Addam reached for a quill and ink. He was no artist, but his sketch of a moose was good enough to have the other man nodding fiercely. “That’s what I saw.”

 

“The bull moose of House Hornwood.” Ser Addam sighed. “Along with the Glovers, known for producing the finest archers in the North.”

 

“Yeah, all the archers had Glover and Hornwood colours” the man agreed. “All the spearmen were Mallisters.”

 

“Wonderful” Ser Addam sighed again. “A thousand men, including five hundred skilled longbowmen ready to rain arrows on us should we be foolish enough to attack them. Who a among them had the command?”

 

“None of them, Ser.” The blunt answer had Ser Addam taken aback, but his nightmare only grew as the man continued. “It was the Blackfish who led them, I could see the crest on his helm.”

 

_ Brynden fucking Tully! Why have the gods cursed me so?  _ At this point Ser Addam seriously began hoping he was having a nightmare, and that when he woke up he would find none of these problems.  _ A thousand men behind us; trained archers and spearmen led by a tried and tested battle commander. Breaking through to the river just got removed as an option; with that kind of defensive force in this sort of terrain; if we were foolish enough to try the Blackfish would make us pay dearly indeed. In front of us, the full power of the North and the Riverlands waiting for us to come at them, and between both us; slowly running out of water.  _

 

“Ser?” The man’s voice shook Addam from his inner worry and he blinked as the man glanced at him in desperation. “What will we do, ser?”

 

Lowering his eyes to the ground, Addam sighed as he laid out the situation as plainly and simply as he could. “We save what water we can, we see if the Tooth can spare any of their own, and we hold. If we run out...well then we may well have to choose between dying of thirst of dying on Tully swords.” Unconsciously, the heir to Ashemark loosened his sword in its scabbard. “I know what I choose.”

 

Swallowing, the messenger ran off to inform the camp of Ser Addam’s orders, while Addam himself sat down and began penning a letter to Lord Lefford, informing him of the situation and requesting that he send water.

 

Unfortunately for Ser Addam, when Lord Leo Lefford’s reply arrived, it was the opposite of what he had been hoping for. 

 

_ Ser Addam. _

 

_ Though I sympathise with your plight, I regret to inform you that what you ask is impossible. Our wells are already stretched thin as it is supplying the three thousand men I have garrisoned here; to add yours as well would be out of the question. Also, without wagons, we have no way of getting the water to your men each day, and having them march into the castle to drink and then back to camp would be out of the question. It would require leaving the gates open at all times; and given the close presence of the enemy, to do so would endanger not only my seat but the lives of everyone in it; something I cannot do. _

 

_ I can, perhaps, help you in a different way however. While you may lack the strength to break through the enemy lines with your own men; your host is all afoot, whereas I have nearly six hundred horse remaining at my command. A mounted charge should easily scatter them, and then you and your men can resume fetching water from the river as you please; while I will have my smallfolk build you more wagons to transport it. If you would please move your men over to the side of the pass to allow my cavalry through, then your problems will soon be solved. _

 

_ Awaiting your signal to attack, Leo Lefford, Lord of the Golden Tooth. _

 

“He can’t be serious” Ser Addam uttered, face showing nothing but disbelief. “I knew Lefford was loyal to Lord Tywin, you don’t leave your baggage train in control of a disloyal man, but this?” He sighed, hand pressed to his face. “And the worst part of it is, that even though his plan is almost certainly doomed to fail, its still the best hope we have.” He heaved another sigh as his shoulders slumped. “Send the orders. Move the men, and we’ll hope for the best.”

 

Waiting by his elbow, the messenger raced off to obey the knight’s order, and soon the Western camp was hurriedly shifting to the side to allow the group of Lefford knights gathered under the walls of the Golden Tooth, to charge through where they had been. Ser Addam watched grimly as Lord Leo Lefford personally led his men down the road, banner flying at the head of the charge.  Unable to resist the urge to watch, he mounted his horse and gathered his personal guard around him; before riding after the charging knights, far enough away as to be able to turn and flee should the battle go awry.

 

As he had expected, it did. 

 

Six hundred knights and light cavalry did not a quiet approach make, and the men blocking the pass were more than aware of the Lefford horsemen’s approach. Calmly in the face of the oncoming wave of armoured horse, Brynden Tully organised his men into battle array, then gave a command. Five hundred bowmen nocked arrows and raised their weapons to a set position, then, on his barked command, brought their bows to full draw and released sending a hail of arrows down at the charging Leffords.

 

Lord Leo had known of their archers of course, hence why he had sent his most heavily armoured men first, as even a longbow could not pierce plate except at close range; making the Glover and Hornwood bowmen all but useless against his knights. Oh, you could aim for the horses, but control of the Golden Tooth and the vast gold mines beneath it; second only to the vein inside Casterly Rock itself, had made House Lefford very wealthy and Lord Leo had put that wealth to good use. 

 

Every warhorse ridden by a knight was covered head to toe in barded plate, armour the equivalent of full plate for a man. Arrows would shatter against the steel ineffectually, and though the horse’s eyes remained vulnerable, it would take a master of the bow or an incredibly lucky shot to hit such a small target at such an angle. As the volley whistled towards him, therefore, Lord Leo spared one contemptuous look and then lowered his head, unwilling to risk a shaft finding its way through his eyeslit. He contemplated raising his shield, but dismissed the idea, trusting in his armour to protect him.

 

That cost him his life when a low arcing arrow punched through his breastplate as if it wasn’t there, the impact sending the Lord of the Golden Tooth from his saddle, where he lay there briefly, bleeding heavily before he was trampled to death by the ranks of knights charging behind him. Unable to stop due to their momentum, they could do nothing as their horse’s hooves pounded their lord again and again; his armour softening the blows just enough to save his bones and prolonging his agony before a hoof finally struck him in the neck, snapping it with a crack.

 

Lord Lefford wasn’t the only casualty though, hundreds of his knights were struck down by the rain of arrows as if by lightning. Longbows that could pierce plate at this distance, this was impossible! Watching from his position at the centre of the line, Brynden Tully smiled grimly in satisfaction, raising his arm to signal another volley.

 

_ Just as Alyssa planned. That niece of mine does have a gift for this sort of thing. _

 

Though the charge of the Lefford knights two days ago had been devastating for the unfortunate men in the van, they had only achieved such a stroke by sacrificing the element of surprise. Now Alyssa knew their numbers, and that they were likely to sally out of the Tooth given reason to. It stood to reason then, that once Brynden’s men cut off the garrison in the pass, that the Lefford knights would try to break through and save their comrades, but this time, Alyssa was prepared

 

When she had sent her ravens to the Riverlands commanding that enough boats to transport the thousand men be found or built, she also sent another raven to Riverhold; ordering her blacksmith to abandon any other projects he might have and focus on forging a special type of arrowhead. Bodkin points were made to pierce plate armor, and though Riverhold’s blacksmith was no master, they were not difficult. 

 

Promised a stag for every one made, the man and his apprentices had worked furiously long into the nights, as did the smiths of every castle around the Tumblestone, Riverrun included. Every man who knew anything about wood carving made arrow shafts, or if not, fletched them, and so by the time Brynden’s men arrived at the point where they were to embark a week later, over three thousand arrows tipped with bodkin heads were waiting for them; enough for six full volleys. 

 

With these weapons in hand, Brynden and his men were now confident of victory, and as the Lefford knights were finding out to their detriment; the smiths had done their work well. The cold steel bodkin points punched through plate armor as if it were paper, and knights fell in droves, unhorsing yet more behind them when they fell. Those who did make it through found themselves faced with a wall of long spears, the Mallister men defending the archers grimly holding their ground and thrusting the razor-sharp points into any gap they could find in the enemy knights armor.

 

Brynden Tully himself could be seen sword in hand, battling enemy knights as they made it through and urging his men to hold the line.  With the momentum of their charge broken and their lord dead, faced with such heavy resistance the remaining Lefford cavalry soon realised it was a fool’s errand and retreated back to the safety of the Golden Tooth. Over half their number remained strewn across the rocks, the bodies numbering in the hundreds, including the Lord of the Golden Tooth himself.

 

Watching from the battlements as the knights returned, Alysanne Lefford, Lord Leo’s eldest daughter and heir, gasped, her hand to her mouth as she realised her father’s banner was not among the returning men. Moving quickly to the yard to greet them, the first knight to dismount confirmed her fears, and the new Lady of the Golden Tooth let out a wail of despair as she knew then that her father was dead.

 

Watching in stony silence as the Lefford knights had fallen, Ser Addam had determined to respect their bravery by watching their last stand as long as he could, but when they ordered the retreat, he was forced to do the same, and he rode back to the camp swiftly, followed by his personal guard. All were silent as they approached, knowing what the defeat of the Lefford cavalry meant. That had been their best chance, and now it was gone.

 

Swallowing the last of his water ration for that day, and noting with worry that it was among the last of their supply, Ser Addam called his commanders and serjeants together and posed them a simple question. Would they rather yield to the Stark and Tully forces, or risk everything on one last throw of the dice; trying to break through where the Leffords had failed.

 

Knowing what their surrender would mean, namely, that their homeland would be open to barbaric Northmen and vengeful Rivermen eager to repay the damage done to the lands of the Trident, to Ser Addam’s pride, his men agreed to fight. At first light next day, therefore, they broke camp, perhaps for the last time, and marched to meet the Blackfish in battle. 

It was not such a foolish prospect as it sounded; Addam’s men outnumbered the Blackfish over three to one, and with footmen against footmen Brynden couldn’t simply impale their cavalry with his spears.

 

This would be spears against spears, archers against archers. Neither side had horse, but Addam had the numbers, and his men were better equipped. His front line wielded pikes instead of spears, wore plate instead of ringmail, and crucially, Addam would have wagered Ashemark itself that the Blackfish was nearly out of bodkin point arrows. Against this, Brynden had the advantage of a prepared defensive position and men who had been drinking sufficient water for the past few days. Addam’s men, on the other hand, were thirsty, demoralised and frustrated. But they were also determined. They knew this was it; they either broke through to the river or died here, either by thirst or by steel.

 

Who would triumph? Brynden’s men; morale already buoyed from defeating the Lefford the previous day, or Addam’s men who had nothing left to lose. In a straight-up battle, no-one knew. The battle began with a furious charge from Addam’s forces, but the Blackfish beat off that attack, and that set the tone for the entire engagement. A stalemate. The Western forces would attack, and the men of the North and Riverlands would repel them. Arrows soared overhead, and men fell on both sides, struck down by hundreds of shafts.

 

The fighting had been going on for but an hour or two however, when the thundering of hooves alerted Ser Addam to an attack from the rear, and though he tried to turn his men to hold off the new assault, the Blackfish had been waiting for this moment, and pushed hard when the Westermen tried to back off, forcing them to keep up their defence or be struck down, and leaving only their rear lines able to meet the attacking cavalry.

 

While the archers did manage to get a volley off; loosing from a prepared position with men who were well-disciplined was vastly different to your archers loosing after being forced to rapidly re-position mid-combat. Those with longbows managed successes, the close range allowing the shafts to punch through the plate armor as if the broadheads were bodkin points, but on the whole the charge was unaffected, and a steel fist of knights smashed into Ser Addam’s rear, Ser Marq Piper leading them with his dancing maiden waving proudly in the wind.

 

With every attack they made being repelled, the battle was already teetering on the edge of a knife for the Westermen before the Tully cavalry arrived. The addition of thousands of knights hacking their way through the back lines tipped that balance beyond all repair. Screaming cries that they yielded, Ser Addam’s men threw down their weapons and took to their heels, fleeing for the Tooth. Though she sympathised, the newly elevated Lady Alysanne knew that to open her gates to them was to risk attack, and she simply ordered her archers to loose on sight as soon as an enemy came in range.

 

As for Ser Addam himself, he found himself duelling Brynden Tully in person, and though the copper-haired knight was younger and stronger than the Blackfish, Brynden knew tricks Addam could never dream of. Though a fully armoured knight may be impervious to blades, there were other ways to bring a man down. A few strokes into their duel, the Blackfish wrong-footed Ser Addam, stepped just so and shoved his weight into Addam’s shoulder. The young man went down, the weight of his armor hindering his recovery, and before he could roll back onto his feet, Brynden planted a boot on his back, the weight of his body preventing Addam’s rise. Kicking the younger man’s sword out of reach, Brynden bent down, careful to still keep his weight on Addam’s back, and unbuckled the Marbrand knight’s helm, tossing the bronzed metal away.

 

“Ser Addam Marbrand. You are mine” the Blackfish intoned, raising his sword in both hands. “Do you yield?”

 

Coughing in the dust, Addam looked around at his men, being slaughtered where they stood or run down by light cavalry. In the end, there was only one answer he could give.

 

“Never.”

 

With a nod of respect, Brynden brought his sword down and everything that Addam Marbrand was tumbled away into nothingness.


	41. Know Thy Enemy

Though Ser Addam’s men had broken and fled even before their commander was slain, they did not get far. Brynden and his troops still blocked the road leading west, and retreating into the Riverlands would require first passing through over twenty thousand Northerners and Rivermen camped outside the pass to the east. Their only hope of salvation was the Golden Tooth, but with Lady Alysanne refusing to open her gates, all they could do was group together under the castle’s walls and prepare to fight to the end.

 

Lady Alysanne knew, however, that it would not come to that. Her lord father may not have been happy with having a girl as his heir, but he had accepted the fact and made sure that House Lefford would have a Lady who knew what she was doing. All her knowledge of warfare led her to believe that the enemy would soon offer to parley, asking her to surrender the Golden Tooth. It made sense after all; even with most of her cavalry annihilated, Alysanne still had close to two thousand footmen at her command, ready to defend the Tooth to the end. With archers on the walls and catapults ready, any attempt to take the castle would see the enemy pay dearly indeed.

 

On the other hand; with the defeat of Ser Addam and his forces came the end of Lefford control of the pass. The Blackfish and his troops held one end, while the bulk of the Stark and Tully men blocked the other. Though the enemy was not actually at the walls, the Tooth was still under siege as effectively as if the castle was surrounded. With the River Road cut, there was no other way to resupply, and even though the Tooth had a deep well and years of supplies; they would eventually run out. Alysanne supposed she could call on Lord Tywin to bring his army here and break the Blackfish from behind, but even if her raven won through, Lord Tywin had at most six thousand trained men; plus however many new recruits he had called up.

 

Also, with the Starks and Tullys now in control of the pass, they could simply send as many reinforcements to the rear as needed until Lord Tywin broke himself on their spears and pikes. What was left of his army would be shattered, and the whole of the Kingdom of the Rock would be open to invasion. Without men to defend them, even Lannisport and Casterly Rock itself would be vulnerable. Regretfully, Alysanne knew that was not an option. Her only choice, only real choice; was to come to terms with the Tullys and the Starks, let them pass and hope that Lord Tywin was able to hold off their advance, although privately, Alysanne doubted it.

 

First light next day, therefore, saw her sitting astride her faithful mare in her finest gown. Surrounded by what remained of her knights as an honor guard, the new captain of her guards hefted a spear topped with a rainbow-coloured banner as he commanded the gates to be opened. Alyssanne rode forth, doing her best to hide her nervousness as she passed beyond the protection of the Tooth’s walls. As she reached the agreed-upon place, riders came forth from the Blackfish’s camp, as well as from the Stark and Tully forces waiting at the eastern end of the pass.

 

As the two sides came together, Alysanne recognized the Blackfish, ebony trout cresting his helm giving away his identity plain as day, as well as Alyssa Tully, red hair visible under her half-helm. Accompanying her was a man, well more of a boy in truth, with a large greatsword strapped to his back, well-crafted armour displaying the direwolf of House Stark. Alysanne’s suspicions were confirmed as he drew closer and the Tully red hair and beard could be seen. This was Robb Stark, the so-called ‘King in the North’.

 

The riders drew rein a few paces from her, Alysanne and her guards trotting their horses closer to meet them. Robb Stark and Alyssa Tully glanced at each other, before the King spoke first, bowing politely in greeting. “My lady Lefford.”

 

Though she dearly wanted to get onto the business at hand, etiquette dictated that Alysanne reply to his formality in kind.

 

“My lord Stark. Though I fear I must correct you” even as she said the words she wanted to weep, knowing that they were false, but the dance of words required that she do so. “I am merely the heir to the Golden Tooth. My father, Lord Leo Lefford, remains Lord of our House unless some misfortune has befallen him on the battlefield.”

 

Even though she knew already what had happened, the naive young girl hidden deep within Alysanne Lefford was hoping that her father had merely been wounded or captured. When the Blackfish’s face turned solemn and he gestured for two of her men holding a large box to approach, she felt as if her heart would crack in grief. With almost inhuman effort; she held back her tears as the box was opened to reveal her father’s body. Still wearing his battered and dented armor, an arrow was jutting from the centre of his breastplate; the shaft penetrating deep into his chest.

 

A second box, brought up by another two of the Blackfish’s men, held the body and severed head of Ser Addam Marbrand, something that understandably drew little reaction from Alysanne after viewing her own father’s deceased corpse. Setting her shoulders and drawing herself upright, the now confirmed Lady of the Golden Tooth prepared herself to continue the verbal dance, as Robb Stark’s face fell in sympathy.

 

“My apologies for your loss, my lady Lefford” he said, before his face set into a frown. “That said, I must respectfully correct you. By will of the Northern Lords, I have been proclaimed King in the North, and so I ask that you address me as such.”

 

Alysanne’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. 

 

_ Now we get down to business. _

 

“House Lefford recognizes no King except for King Joffrey” she began, feigning outrage as best she could in her current state. “King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the  _ First Men _ ” the last accompanied by with a pointed stare at Robb, “Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Since the North is part of the Seven Kingdoms, you are cannot be its King and indeed, along with all these others, are nothing but a rebel and a traitor to KIng Joffrey.”

 

Unknown to Alysanne, she was all but mimicking the words spoken by Ser Jon Bettley moons before, but the formality of the parley demanded that sort of answer. Even as she knew what the reply would be, Alyssa Tully nudged her horse a pace forward.

 

“Yes” she said, a smile on her face. “We are traitors, and now we are traitors who have your castle surrounded, your allies destroyed and your garrison vastly outnumbered Those are the simple facts Lady Alysanne and we both know them to be true; else why would you be here?”

 

Alysanne considered denying the other woman’s words for a moment, only for her shoulders to slump as she realized there was no point. The Northerners knew she was here to discuss terms. The Rivermen knew she was here to discuss terms. Even her own people knew why she was here, so why claim otherwise?

 

“Very well” she said, defeated. “What terms do you offer for our surrender?”

 

Once again Stark and Tully looked to each other before Stark cleared his throat.

 

“First, you will concede control of the River Road, in its entirety, to our forces. You will not attack them or block their passage in any way.”

 

“Agreed” Alysanne said, she had no reason to refuse that.

 

“Second” he went on, “as prize of battle; one third of the gold stored in the Golden Tooth is now forfeit to the North. Another third is also forfeit to the Riverlands, which shall be used to repair the damage done by the men of the Westerlands in their recent invasion.’

 

Alysanne winced at that demand; giving up that much gold would take a huge bite out of the Lefford’s treasury. Not to mention that giving that much wealth to his enemies would put her firmly on Lord Tywin’s list as a traitor. For the sake of her people, however, she would pay it. “So be it” she sighed, already envisioning the work involved in packing up and transporting that much gold. 

 

Robb Stark then glanced at Alyssa Tully, who took up the listing of their demands in his stead. “Third” she said, blue eyes steely in the morning light, “House Lefford’s levies will be disbanded. They are free to return to their homes, as long as they surrender their arms and armor and do not attack our forces.”

 

Alysanne nodded slowly, more than willing to disband her army. Though she loved her father, she knew mustering House Lefford’s full power inside the Tooth had been nothing short of folly.

 

_ A few hundred would have been enough to hold the castle. The only thing having all our men here did was stretch the wells to their limits. Had we had a smaller garrison; we might have been able to supply water to Ser Addam’s men as well, and at the very least, delay their defeat; mayhaps in time for Lord Tywin to strike the Blackfish from behind. _

 

Before she could put voice to her thoughts, Alyssa Tully curtly finished listing the surrender terms. “And your garrison will be reduced to a hundred men. The North and the Riverlands will each leave a hundred men as well to bolster your garrison”. The smile Alysanne found herself faced with was unsettling; kind, yet holding just a hint of a threat.

 

“The Tooth remains yours” Alyssa concluded before Alysanne could answer, “as does your lands, which we pledge to treat as if they were our own, but should any of your people raise arms against us, they will be shown no mercy. The garrison is there only for security; the Tooth is still yours to rule, however the commanders of our forces may access your ravenry at any time so they can send us regular reports. KIng Robb and I will inspect the castle before we leave to ensure these terms are complied with.”

 

Alysanne heaved a final sigh, glad that this whole thing was over with. “Very well. I accept your terms.” Turning and riding back to the castle, her guard captain shouted for the gates to be opened, and Alysanne reentered the castle, prepared for the unpleasant task of informing her garrison of the castle’s surrender. As it turned out, she had no need to. House Lefford’s guard were loyal, well-trained soldiers who knew war well, and who could analyse the situation for themselves well enough. They knew their lady had no choice but to yield, and were already preparing for the order to be given.

 

As her men marched out through the gates, Alysanne made sure to thank each one for their service to her family before they added their weapons and armor to the growing pile by her feet and headed for their homes. Her advisors tried to persuade her otherwise, as she had thousands under her command; but Alysanne was adamant. Those men had been prepared to fight and die for her father, and now for her, the least she could do was show her gratitude as they left.

 

Once the last of her men had departed and only her finest remained; the best hundred which the terms of surrender allowed her to retain, Alysanne reluctantly reached out a hand, and her captain of the guard placed her father’s longsword in it. Forged for the hand of a trained warrior, the blade took all Alysanne’s strength to lift, even with two hands. Unwilling to shame herself, however, she eventually managed to draw the sword; laying it at the feet of Robb Stark and Alyssa Tully when they entered the yard.

 

“Your Grace, Lady Hand” she added quickly, having only recently found out about Alyssa Tully’s new title, “The Golden Tooth is yours”.

 

Solemnly, Robb Stark bent to accept the ornate longsword, sliding it into the sheath offered by the Lefford guard captain. Alyssa Tully began giving orders to the hundred Riverlands men who would remain to ensure the Tooth’s loyalty, and the two commanders began making their way through the castle, inspecting the state of things. Alysanne trailed after them, swallowing her anger at their cavalier examination of her home. It took great effort to hold back her rage when they reached the treasury, smiling in glee at the sight of the great wealth her family had collected over the years; and ordered the gold packed up to be given to the North and the Riverlands. When it was all done and the treasury was empty of workers, Alysanne looked at her vault, not so long ago full of gold as far as the eye could see, and wept quietly at the price her House had paid for following Lord Tywin into defeat.

 

Wiping away her tears with a firm hand, Alysanne left the treasury, determined to catch up with Stark and Tully. If either noticed her absence they did not comment on it, merely slowing enough to allow her to fall into step with them. From the treasury they visited the armoury and barracks, Alyssa Tully raising an impressed eyebrow at the training and equipment of the Lefford men, before climbing the stairs to the rookery. There, the old maester greeted them calmly, simply nodding his head when Alysanne reluctantly informed him that the Stark and Tully men were to be given full access to that room at all times.

 

The final destination of the Tooth’s two conquerors was Lord Lefford’s solar, now Alysanne’s. Alysanne felt her chest pain at the sight; the signs of her father’s presence were still clearly visible. Scrolls littered his table, while a half-eaten meal remained on the desk. Robb Stark glanced around the room and nodded, already turning on his heel to leave, but stopped in his tracks when he heard Alyssa Tully clear her throat.

 

“Well, well, well; what do we have here?” she chuckled, a smile playing upon her lips. “Your Grace, would you care to come and have a look at this?”

 

Eyebrow raised, the King in the North looked over his shoulder, and being curious herself as to what Alyssa had found; Alysanne turned milk-white with shock, freezing in her tracks as she saw what Alyssa was holding.

 

_ No! Father, you fool! You should have burnt that! _

 

Alyssa Tully cleared her throat, smiling gleefully.

 

“To all lords of the Westerlands” she began reading aloud dramatically. “Following the failure of our campaign in the Riverlands, I commanded the mustering of a new host to defend ourselves against invasion. However, many of you have refused or provided pathetic excuses for not doing so. Others have falsely claimed that I permitted them to send less than they were required to. These are nothing but lies. I understand that you may not be eager to commit more men after our recent defeat.

 

However. Let me remind you that I  _ am _ the Lord of Casterly Rock, the Warden of the West and you  _ are  _ bannermen of House Lannister, sworn to obey my summons. As such, let me make myself perfectly clear, so that there can be no misunderstandings. To that end, exact copies of this letter have been sent to all my bannermen, so that none may make false claims about the amount of their required commitment.

 

When I first called my banners, every one of you was required to send all of your trained armsmen, as well as one-quarter of the untrained boys living on your lands and those too old to fight. The  _ only  _ exception to this” Alyssa called dramatically, “was Houses Crakehall, Farman and Lefford. As those three Houses maintain key positions for the defence of the Westerlands from the whole, they were permitted to retain a greater portion of their strength.

 

They were  _ not _ however, excused from the muster entirely. They were instead required to send half their armsmen as well as half their garrison, which all three did comply with.

 

I mention this so you all know that I know  _ exactly  _ how many men you have left, or should, and will after I receive my new reinforcements. Here is the order, and it is as plain as crystal. Every single one of you will send  _ all  _ of your remaining armsmen to Casterly Rock, as well as two-thirds of your remaining green boys and old men. I don’t care if you have to drag children away from pleading mothers; if the boy is old enough to hold a spear he’s old enough to serve. I  _ want  _ those men.”

 

Robb’s mouth fell open and he clenched his fists in indignation. “Has Lord Tywin gone mad?” he questioned Lady Alysanne, who found herself speechless in the face of his anger. Before she could say anything, a light chuckle broke the silence, and Alysanne’s doe-like eyes turned to see Alyssa standing there laughing to herself as she continued perusing the scroll.

 

“Not mad, Your Grace. Desperate. We chopped his best armies into meat into the Riverlands, and now that we’ve come for him, he needs swords badly enough to resort to children in his armies.” Shaking her head, still laughing, she continued reading from the message that Alysanne was cursing the very existence of.

 

“The  _ only  _ House exempt from this second muster is House Lefford” Alyssa glanced over at Lady Alysanne in amusement as she read this, though out of respect for the dead she turned serious again as she continued. “Lord Leo Lefford is a loyal servant of House Lannister, and will die before he lets our enemies pass. I leave him with his power, therefore, in the hopes that he can delay them long enough for the rest of us to raise our levies. I said the only Houses exempt were the ones mentioned above, and to set an example I have already drawn the same commitment from my own lands, training my levies outside Lannisport. 

 

All of you are hereby ordered to join me with your power, where we shall train and equip our new army until we are ready to expel these invaders from our lands. Obedience is expected immediately, and failure to comply will be considered treason, and shall be treated as such. Heed my warning, my lords, and think carefully before you incur the wrath of the Lion, and remember well the Tarbecks and Reynes, who did not.

 

Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport, Warden of the West and Hand of the King.”

 

The bottom of the page was taken up by a large, ornate seal set in enough gold wax to feed a family for a week, and then a series of musical notes. Without a doubt, Alyssa knew they were the sheet music to ‘ _ The Rains of Castamere _ ’, and snorting at the Great Lion of the Rock’s lack of tact, she returned her attention to more important matters. “I think we shall take this with us, Lady Alysanne.”

 

“Why?” Robb asked, drumming his fingers on the desk briskly. “True it is helpful, but we are missing a piece of this puzzle. Lord Tywin refers to the numbers of men sent as percentages taken away from the strengths his bannermen had at the start of the war, but none of us know what those are.”

 

Despite all her efforts, a tiny smile appeared on Alysanne’s features. 

 

_ The Seven smile on House Lefford after all! Father never bothered to write that down; why would he? Any Westerman knows those figures, its not like he’d need to write them on a map. Lord Tywin might, if he felt the need to be precise, but that information is locked safely in Casterly Rock. _

 

She spared a thought for her father, currently in one of the Seven Heavens if the Father had judged Lord Leo justly.  _ Father, your mistake could have cost us dearly; Lord Tywin would have destroyed our House root and branch for allowing that information to fall into enemy hands, but it seems that by sheer luck and poor preparation on their part, we may be spared! _

 

She felt as if the sun had at last risen over the Golden Tooth, mimicking the sigil of House Lefford, but Alyssa’s next words had that sun falling from the sky.

 

“Don’t we?” she asked, as if Robb’s question was the most foolish thing she had ever heard and Alysanne all but felt the sun shatter into pieces. “I am the Warden of the Western Hills, Your Grace. I’ve been preparing for war with the Westerlands for years, which includes gathering information. I’d be a poor Warden if I didn’t know my enemy’s strength, now wouldn’t I?”

 

Without waiting for an answer Alyssa took the letter and left, pausing only to nod curtly at Alysanne in farewell before leaving the room. Robb lingered a moment longer to bid the Lady of the Golden Tooth a polite goodbye before hurrying to keep up with Alyssa’s purposeful strides. After exiting the Tooth they remounted their horses and rode back for their camp, Alyssa refusing to speak until she had retrieved a large chest from her tent. Struggling to carry one half of the box, Robb kept pace with her until they reached the war council tent, and after she had barked at all nearby to leave, he helped her place the chest on the ground and then could contain himself no longer.

 

“So” he asked, showing all of his sixteen years in his excitement, “show me.”

 

Unlatching the chest and stooping over it, Alyssa removed her box of map pieces, a rolled map of the Westerlands and finally a scroll case containing a tightly rolled piece of long parchment. Spreading the map out over the table, where Robb could see a series of lines drawn marking out the territories of the various Western lords, Alyssa unrolled the scroll and then breathed out deeply.”

 

“All right then, but first a question,  _ nephew _ ” she said pointedly, reminding him that here he was not the King in the North, he was simply Robb getting a lesson from his aunt. “How is your head for figures?”

 

That forced Robb to think for a moment, he knew he wasn’t the best when it came to numbers, Jon had always been the one with the gift for that, though Maester Luwin had said Robb was capable enough. In the end, there was only one answer he could give.

 

“We’ll see, won’t we” smiling as confidently as he could. “Tell me what you know.”

 

Nodding absently at that Alyssa glanced at the scroll for a moment, before turning to the map. “Very well. We’ll start with House Lannister. Though the Westerlands as a whole could command a maximum of fifty thousand men, augmented by sellswords hired with Lannister gold, House Lannister itself can muster six thousand men at arms. Casterly Rock maintains a peacetime garrison of four hundred, and another sixteen hundred can be drawn from the surrounding lands; fishermen, farmer’s boys, cutpurses, old men, the scrapings of the military barrel.”

 

“How can you know all this” Robb burst out. “Lord Tywin would sooner have your head than let this information get out?”

 

Tellingly, his aunt did not answer immediately, instead steepling her fingers and looking over them at him. “You cannot tell anyone this” she said sternly, fixing him with a gaze that reminded him of his mother’s. “If Lord Tywin found out, there would be blood.” After a moment, Robb nodded and she sighed, glancing down for a moment. “It was the Citadel” she muttered, leaning closer to him to reduce the risk of being overheard. “All castles of importance have maesters, and those maesters make yearly reports to the Citadel about the castle’s strength, productivity, winter stores and many other things. 

 

Not to mention” she smiled then “that the king’s law requires that all Houses send an accounting of their strength to King’s Landing so that when His Grace calls his banners, all he has to do is look at his records and the names of the Houses that stayed loyal to know exactly how many swords he has at his command, as well as how many his enemy has.

 

At my command, Maester Lucas sent a request to the Citadel years ago for copies of the last reports made by the Western keeps, claiming he wished to know what they needed so as Riverhold could have an advantage in trade. Though the Citadel takes no side in theory, in practice House Hightower keeps a close eye on things, as you would expect given that the Citadel is based in Oldtown, and House Tyrell dictates what the Hightowers allow in their city. House Tully and the Riverlands having an advantage in trade over the Westerlands doesn’t harm the Reach, so Oldtown and Highgarden were willing to allow it, for a price.

 

All I had to do was send my request along with the promise of a hefty amount of gold” her wince told Robb that the amount she had paid was quite substantial indeed, “and wait a few days for a response. After that,  _ suddenly _ ” she false-gasped sarcastically, “the Maesters determined that my request posed no threat to the stability of the Seven Kingdoms or the Citadel’s neutrality. So I sent the money off, protected by an armed escort, and moons later, the reports arrived. Weeks more of studying them gave me what you see before you” she lifted the parchment for his inspection, “the most thorough and detailed report of the Westerlands military strength you’ll find outside of Casterly Rock. It may have cost me nearly a year’s worth of Riverhold’s profits, but it was worth every dragon.”

 

Awed by this, Robb watched as his aunt did some sums on a piece of parchment nearby for a second before nodding to herself. “Now, to business. Lord Tywin says that for his first muster, he commanded all Houses to send all their trained armsmen and a quarter of their ‘scrapings’ as I call them.” She glanced up at Robb, tapping the end of her quill against her teeth for a moment. “That’s six thousand armsmen, and another four hundred scrapings on top of that; which formed his contribution to his and the Kingslayer’s hosts. Sixty-four hundred in total.

 

Now he had eight thousand to begin with, so subtracting the men he raised leaves sixteen hundred.” Robb was beginning to see where this was going, and he watched silently as Alyssa consulted the message again. “For this second muster, he orders all Houses to send any remaining armsmen, as well as half their garrison and two-thirds of their scrapings.” She did some more sums, muttering to herself as she worked. “If their garrison is four hundred, then Lord Tywin is raising two hundred for his new army, plus another nine hundred of his future soldiers and past warriors. Eleven hundred in total, leaving Casterly Rock defended by” her quill scratched for a moment before it abruptly stopped. “Five hundred men.” 

 

“Five hundred?” The number sounded incredibly small to Robb; sure Winterfell could hold off tens of thousands of men with that number of defenders, but Winterfell was also nowhere near the size of the Rock. “And over half of that would be green boys and old men, are you sure about that?”

 

“Let me try another then” Alyssa replied, already working more numbers as she calculated the strength of House Banefort, the next on her list alphabetically. “Let’s see here, the Banefort’s current strength is...a hundred and eighty men.”

 

“A hundred and eighty?” Robb echoed scornfully. “Now I’m sure you must be making a mistake, there’s no way Lord Banefort would leave his seat to be defended by so few men”.

 

“Less” Alyssa mentioned absently, mind already elsewhere. “No lord can raise a hundred percent of their scrapings, the smallfolk learn to hide their children and elderly when they see you coming. I’d place good money on Banefort having less than a hundred swords left.”

 

She drummed her fingers on the table, glancing at her work for a moment. “Let’s look at this a different way. We know the Westerlands can raise fifty thousand swords at absolute best. Now let’s subtract the twenty thousand taken by the Kingslayer, which leaves thirty thousand, and twenty thousand more that followed his father, meaning the Westerlands can muster at best ten thousand more swords.”

 

“Ten thousand spread among the entirety of the West” Alyssa’s voice was soft, not daring to believe her own words, before she snapped her fingers and a slow smile broke out over her face. “Less, actually now, that includes the forces of House Lefford which we just scattered back to their homes. That makes it closer to seven thousand.”

 

Alyssa sat down heavily now, shaken by the implication of what she had discovered, and Robb moved to her side in worry. Still smiling she waved him off and leaned back into her chair, stretching out her arms. “I’m fine, Robb. I just realized that even counting the few thousand Lord Tywin brought west with him, this new army he’s raising at Lannisport couldn’t be more than fifteen thousand strong, less probably.”

 

“Fifteen thousand?” echoed Robb, now beginning to understand why his aunt looked torn between shock and delight. “We have nearly twice that between us. He can’t beat us in the field.”

 

“No” Alyssa conceded, but before he could savor his joy any further she held up a hand in a warding gesture. “But,  _ we _ don’t have the men to take the battle to Lord Tywin either. Defences and high ground can count for a lot more in terms of numbers, and the walls of Lannisport are tall and strong. That said” she trailed off and began working numbers again. Robb opened his mouth to speak but she tilted her head and fixed him with a glare that made him instinctively want to apologise to his mother for whatever he had done wrong.

 

He fell silent as she did more sums, working so furiously that she left splatters of ink on the table, map and parchment, Robb deftly using a second piece of parchment to prevent any vital information from being obscured, until after a few minutes, she checked her work again and then sat back with a sigh of satisfaction.

 

“As I thought. Well, it seems that even though we cannot take the fight to Lord Tywin, mayhaps we can force him to come to us.”

 

“Come to us?” Robb’s mind was whirling as he wondered what she had in mind. Threatening the Kingslayer might work, but then it might not, and more importantly, would endanger Robb’s own father and sister. “What are you planning?”

 

Instead of answering, Alyssa took yet another piece of blank parchment from the stock she kept in the chest before she slid the map around so now it was Robb who could see it clearly, while Alyssa was looking over it upside down. “After the fighting in the pass, our combined forces have close to twenty-eight thousand men. While Lord Tywin’s army in Lannisport is beyond our ability to harm, the Westerlands are not.”

 

Even now Alyssa was scribbling as she talked, writing names in a long column. Curious, Robb leaned closer but he could only see ‘Dustin’ before her hand moved down and his sight was blocked. “At Lord Tywin’s command, his lords have joined their power to his to protect Casterly Rock and Lannisport. If we start pillaging their lands and taking their keeps while their strength is elsewhere, then their faith will begin to fade. They’ll demand that Lord Tywin march his troops out to protect them, or at least allows them to take their men back home and defend their own holdings.”

 

Alyssa’s strategy was beginning to dawn on Robb, though the honourable Stark frowned in disapproval at the mention of pillaging the lands of the smallfolk; who had likely done them no harm personally, but before he could object Alyssa went on. “I’ve been thinking about this strategy for a while, but it would have been no good then.” Her fingers drummed on the table unconsciously as her mind was laid bare to Robb. “The lords of the West had enough strength left that each castle would require our full power to defeat, and marching our army to every castle in the West would have taken moons, as well as weakened our strength significantly due to the losses taken storming each castle. By then, Lord Tywin could have raised his new host under the walls of Lannisport, trained them and then intercepted our force on the road, crushing us when we were weak.

 

“And now?” he asked pointedly, having had enough of this dancing around the topic. “What’s changed now that Tywin’s bannermen are left with a fraction of their strength?”

 

“Now” Alyssa smirked, “we can safely split our host; allowing us to attack multiple targets at once and complete our conquest that much faster.” Alyssa turned the list she’d been writing around, so that Robb could see the names of all his and her bannermen listed individually, with her report sitting next to it. “Including the lands surrounding Casterly Rock and Lannisport themselves” she stated, hand moving over the boundaries inked on the map, “there are eighteen areas that we’ll need to attack. There were nineteen but…” her finger tapped the Golden Tooth briefly and Robb couldn’t help but smile at that.

 

Next, she pointed at the list she had finished writing. “Including my own forces, I have six powerful Houses under my banner, while you have another fourteen. What I suggest is this. Each of mine and your bannermen will be assigned a castle to take, and as long as they achieve that objective, then that castle and its attended lands are theirs to do with as they wish.”

 

Slowly nodding along with what Alyssa said, Robb frowned at the last part. “Do with as they wish?” He stared hard at Alyssa, who remained unblinking in the face of his glare. “Do you mean to let your men kill the people of the Westerlands and burn their homes?”

 

“If their lords do not yield, then yes.” Alyssa’s eyes were blue steel now, matching her beloved blade. “This is  _ war _ , nephew” she slammed her fist onto the table, winching slightly even as she clenched it in frustration, “and if you lack the stomach for it, then put off your crown, go back to Winterfell and leave this to those who don’t.”

 

For a long moment, there was nothing but silence, before the King in the North sighed long and hard. “Very well” his head dropped low as he examined the map again. “How do you propose dividing up the territories?”

 

The look in his aunt’s eye told him he wasn’t going to like what she said next, and indeed he didn’t. “Well, as my Rivermen have been fighting this war the longest, it seems only fair to give them the choicest targets, as they have lost more than your Northmen”.

 

“Hold on now” Robb cried indignantly; “you’d have lost Riverrun and likely the war if not for us. You can’t claim to have done everything yourself, the men of the North deserve reward too.”

 

“They do” Alyssa conceded, “and I do not deny your help was invaluable. But your  _ losses  _ do not even come close to comparing to ours. Lord Karyl is Lord of Wayfarer’s Rest because his father fell at Riverhold, fighting loyally by my side. His cousin, Ser Ronald Vance, perished at the start of the Battle of the Woods. Lord Jason should very well be dead according to Maester Vyman, Seagard still has its Lord today due to the Seven’s will. The Freys lost two heirs and half their power following me; do you not think they are owed compensation for that? What loss has Winterfell taken in this war, Your Grace? How many men has the Dreadfort lost, how many Karstarks have fallen? What great tragedy has felled the giant of Umber?” 

 

Alyssa breathed deeply, having not intended for her voice to rise as it had. “The only two Houses who fought with me that have not lost a member are House Piper as well as myself, and even we have taken severe losses. Lord Clement may live, but over half his men do not, and as for Riverhold, the next winter will be hard indeed. Nearly all our young men are dead as well as those too old to fight and boys whose weapons were older than them.”

 

“Boys?” Robb echoed in horror. “You mock Lord Tywin for doing the same thing you have, why would you resort to such a thing?”

 

“When the Kingslayer is marching on your seat with twenty thousand men” answered Alyssa, face grim, “you use every single resource available to you, even those you would rather not. But that just proves my point really” folding her hands, she looked over them at Robb, her gaze seeming to pierce through him. “Winterfell was never threatened. No Lannister man so much as set foot on Northern soil. Those lords who fought beside me abandoned everything to answer my call. They deserve to be rewarded for it.”

 

After a moment’s thought, Robb nodded. “So they do. That still leaves one problem though. There are eighteen targets and twenty Houses. Does that mean two will be left out?”

 

Shaking her head with a smile, Alyssa pointed to a spot far west on the map, to a castle on the coast of the Westerlands. “No, it means three Houses will be combining their strength to attack Crakehall. They still had half their men after the first muster, and the castle is close to Lannisport. Lord Crakehall is almost certain to recall his men once news of our attacks reaches him, which means the castle will be defended by thousands by the time our attacking force arrives. Combining three of the stronger Houses should be enough to match his power.”

 

Glancing at the map, Alyssa began making marks on the castles she wanted the lords of the Trident to attack, while Robb, thinking of the strengths of his bannermen, began doing likewise. The candles were burning low by the time they had reached an agreement, and with a smile, Robb bade Alyssa farewell and headed for his bedroll, Alyssa pausing only long enough to order a servant to call a war council for tomorrow, before dousing the candles and following his example.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	42. Interlude 3 - Westerlands Map

 

With the Golden Tooth now in Stark and Tully hands, the invasion of the West begins in earnest. Another map seemed in order, to show the territories of the various lords and targets that will be discussed in the upcoming chapter.

 

Oh yes - the black circles show where that House's seat is. If no location is shown, than its my best guess. 

 

Thanks to all those who've stayed with me so far. 

 

 


	43. A Thousand Razors

Though Alyssa dearly wanted to put her plan into action immediately, she had not forgotten the reactions of her fellow Riverlords the last time she had woken them early for a war council, nor those of the Northmen. It was three hours after dawn, therefore, when she sent out her messengers calling all the lords of the Trident and those standing in their stead to assemble at her command tent. Her nephew had already done the same for his own part, the King in the North ordering his bannermen to attend him. A rider had arrived from Riverrun late in the night, and now Robb was King in looks as well as truth; an iron crown crafted by the same smith who had reforged River’s Edge now sitting atop his brow. 

 

Though the symbol of his rule reminded Alyssa that she was only her brother’s Hand, and therefore not technically her nephew’s equal, she did not envy him his crown, as the steel pressed heavily down upon his head, and even as she stood there Alyssa could see him uncomfortably attempting to adjust it. Privately, she thought to herself that no amount of turning could make wearing that a pleasant feeling. In the style of the old Kings of Winter, the crown had been forged in the shape of nine longswords with blades pointed up, and when worn, the pommels could be found pressing into the top of the wearer’s skull.

 

Uncomfortable or not, the smith’s work did as intended. With Grey Wind by his side, Ice strapped to his back over his wolf-skin cloak and now his spiked crown adding the final touch, Alyssa’s nephew looked to her every inch the image of the KIngs of Winter of old she had seen in books, regardless of his tender years. He held himself differently as well, as if endeavouring to act as a king should, instead of a mere boy. Knowing that he now needed to prove himself worthy of his title, Alyssa made no objection when Robb voiced his desire to be the one to explain the battle plan.

 

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of cloth being pushed back, and glancing up with a jerk, Alyssa’s face flushed as she realised that Lord Medger Cerwyn, last of the nobles to arrive, had taken his place around the table, the lord of Castle Cerwyn still rubbing sleep from his eyes. A glance around the room confirmed the fact that everyone who needed to be so was present, and after a glance at Robb, Alyssa stepped back to allow him to speak, her nephew clearing his throat with no sign of the nervousness that must surely be present.

 

“Thank you for coming my lords, my ladies” the King in the North began, glancing at Alyssa and Maege Mormont as he added the last part. “I’m sure you all may be wondering why you are here. Yesterday, when Lady Alyssa and I entered the Golden Tooth to confirm their surrender, we came across a very interesting document, which, when combined with certain information in Lady Alyssa’s possession previously, gives us the current strength of each of Lord Tywin’s bannermen as of last week.”

 

He paused then, both for dramatic effect as well as to allow the questions that he knew his bannermen must be bursting with. He was not wrong.

 

“What?” Maege Mormont’s voice held deep tones of doubt, but yet a hint of hope that this could be real. “How could you come by such information?”

 

In lieu of answer, Robb held up the letter Alyssa had found on Lord Lefford’s desk and read it aloud to the assembled nobles, adding that it had been found in the solar of the Golden Tooth. When he was done, the tent was quiet once more and there was silence for a moment, before Roose Bolton’s cold voice broke it, emotionless as ever. “If Lord Tywin knew that Lord Lefford had allowed this information to fall into our hands” he stated, “then Lady Alysanne and all her household would soon meet the fate of the Reynes and Tarbecks.”

 

“Indeed” Galbart Glover added, examining the letter closely before passing it along to Ser Patrek Mallister. “Lefford of the Golden Tooth may not be as easy to write a song about as Reyne of Castamere, but Lord Tywin’s wrath will no doubt inspire many bards regardless.”

 

Taking the parchment from the Master of Deepwood Motte with thanks, the heir to Seagard scrutinised it closely, before glancing at Robb with a frown. “But he wouldn’t know, because there’s nothing to know. This letter is useless to us; it says nothing about how many men each of his bannermen had before the war, which is what would be needed for this to help in any way, and none of us know that. Without that knowledge, this is worthless.”

 

“No?” Heads turned as Ser Walder Frey smirked at his own question. “I’d bet good gold that Lady Alyssa does.  _ His Grace- _ ” Frey’s tone was just short of mocking Robb’s title, and the Northmen let it go with frowns and scowls, “-did say after all that this letter was combined with information that the Lady Hand had previously.” The fact that he said Alyssa’s title with respect he had not afforded Robb’s was not lost on anyone, the Rivermen rolling their eyes inwardly at a Frey sucking up to Riverrun now that his sister was Queen, while the Northmen growled, the Greatjon fingering the pommel of his massive greatsword.

Before anything could come of this new insult, Lord Karyl Vance interrupted the brewing disagreement. “Ser Walder makes a good point, my lady. What is it you know that makes you so confident?”

 

All eyes in the tent turned to Alyssa, and she drew a deep breath to steady herself for the unpleasant reception her response would garner. “I regret, Lord Karyl, that I cannot tell you that. Else I would be signing the death warrants of both myself and my source.”

 

“Come off it!” The Greatjon shouted, voice not even trying to hide the outrage clearly shown across his features. “You can’t be thinking that any of us would betray you! Are you trying to say we can’t be trusted?” His hand was now reaching for the hilt of his sword, many others present throwing her dark looks and glancing at their own weapons. Seeing his council close to turning into a tinderbox, Robb was swift to intervene.

 

“It is not a matter of trust, Lord Umber, but that of secrecy.” As questioning glances met his eyes, Robb smiled grimly and spread his hands wide. “Yes, Lady Alyssa has told me of how she came by her information, and suffice to say that it is something Lord Tywin would never think of. I trust you all here with my life, of course, but if you knew her secret, the temptation to use it for your own gain would be too high. Should this method become commonplace in war, Lord Tywin may well uncover it, and should that happen, his wroth would be terrible.”

 

Heads were now nodding and the Greatjon released his sword, muttering an apology to Alyssa as the huge blade swung back to rest flat against his back once more. Clearing his throat and taking a drink of the camp water, Robb nodded shortly before he took a stack of parchments from the table.

 

“If you do not trust Lady Alyssa’s secrets, then trust me. I have seen her method in action, and I am convinced it works, and that the numbers given here are accurate as of last week.” Handing them to Roose Bolton, the closest noble to him and gesturing for him to pass them on, the Lord of the Dreadfort raised an eyebrow, but took the top page before handing them along to the Greatjon, and so on until everyone in the command tent had a parchment, including the Blackfish, having recently rejoined the main camp with his men, their mission successful.

 

Glancing at it casually, the Lord of the Dreadfort gave a rare sign of shock when his mouth opened, just slightly, at the figures before him. “My lady” though surprised he may be, his voice gave no sign, controlled and cold as always, “are you sure of this?”

 

Affirming her results with a smirk, Alyssa pitched her voice to address the entire tent without glancing away from Roose. “I worked my sums three times, Lord Bolton. I promise you those numbers are correct.”

 

“But that means” began Ser Helman Tallhart, studying his own parchment carefully, “that every castle in the West is held by only a skeleton garrison.” His words hung in the air for a moment, allowing every man and woman in the command tent to register their true import, before the Greatjon slammed his fist on the table.

 

“Ha! The Lannisters are vulnerable? Then why are we standing around here talking? Let’s go and finish this, take the Rock and seize Tywin, then his bannermen will yield and we can march to the capital and free Lord Stark!”

 

“Because that is absolute folly.” Somehow Bolton managed to keep his voice cold as ever, yet still hold a cutting edge that drove into the Greatjon’s very core. “Lord Tywin has fifteen thousand men in Lannisport. After the past few days of fighting, our combined forces number not even double that. Even considering an attack on Lannisport would be suicide.”

 

That took the wind out of the Greatjon’s sails, and a grateful Robb sent a nod of thanks to the Lord of the Dreadfort before he cleared his throat. “As Lord Bolton says, an attack on Lannisport would be the height of foolishness. However, with all the West’s strength drawn into the city, the individual seats of his bannermen are left vulnerable.” He tapped a finger on the map, moving from castle to castle held by the lords of the West. “We shall divide our forces, and strike across the Westerlands all at once; each of his bannerman’s seat that falls shall be a dagger into Lord Tywin’s pride, as well as his lords’ trust in him. Before long he will find that he must march, or lose their loyalty entirely. A lord who cannot protect his people, after all, is no lord at all.”

 

Smiles filled the faces of the lords of the North and Trident now, and Robb pointed at the map, and the marker indicating the Golden Tooth, as he inked a quill. “Including Houses Stark and Tully, there are twenty Houses making up our combined armies. With the Golden Tooth taken, that leaves eighteen castles throughout the Westerlands that need to be dealt with, leaving Casterly Rock and Lannisport aside.” He folded his arms and glanced at his bannermen, watching eagerly. Stepping aside slightly, he allowed Alyssa to move forward and take up the explanation, as while he knew this next part was necessary, it was morally repulsive to him and he would rather not be the one to say it.

 

“Each House will be assigned one castle to capture, and as long as the House holding the castle is removed from the war, then the methods of doing so, as well as any plunder, will belong totally to you.” Now her lips curved into a grim slime as the lords began muttering amongst each other, beginning to understand what that meant for them, but she decided to elaborate anyway. “Gold, hostages, steel, even the castle itself is yours if you want it and you can take it, as much of your target’s wealth as you can take is yours as long as you capture your assigned castle.”

 

At the word wealth, eyes lit up and Alyssa knew perfectly well what the nobles present were thinking. The mines of the Westerlands made it the richest region in Westeros, even many of the Lannisters smaller bannermen still financially superior to powerful lords such as the Mallisters or Boltons. Clearly, she now had their undivided attention, and she meant to take full advantage of that. “We shall draw away Tywin’s allies, cut away his support, striking blow after blow at his kingdom until the lion must needs venture from its den. And then” her eyes were chips of blue ice, with absolutely no kindness or mercy to be found there “we spear it to death and bring it down.”

 

This brought roars of agreement and fists pounding on the table, which creaked ominously, and remembering what the Greatjon had done to Lord Bracken’s table, Alyssa decided to stop prolonging things and announce the targets. “His Grace and I” she nodded respectfully at Robb, “have assigned each of you an objective based on your House’s strength, favoured terrain and contribution to the war thus far.”

 

Opening her small wooden box, she swung the lid back to reveal the row of pieces carved to represent the sigils of every Riverlord here. Ignoring the markers of those Houses no longer present, such as the black raven and red stallion, she took a dragon elegantly carved of black wood and set it upon the table, all eyes falling upon it. Though the dragon was traditionally associated with House Targaryen, in the Riverlands there were two Houses whose banners bore the legendary beast. 

  
  


During the Dance of Dragons, when the Targaryens had split between Rhaenyra and Aegon, the Vances of Wayfarer’s Rest had followed Queen Rhaenyra, becoming part of what was known as the “blacks”. Though it seemed petty, her supporters were named such after a dress the then Princess had worn to a certain tourney in Targaryen black and red, as opposed to her rival, the Queen. Alicent Targaryen nee Hightower had dressed in bright green, giving birth to the “greens”; supporters of the queen, and her son, soon to be King Aegon II.

 

That had been a chaotic time, with brother fighting brother, the North, Vale and Riverlands backing Rhaenyra for the most part, while the Westerlands, Reach and Stormlands supported Aegon. To Alyssa’s private shame, House Tully had sat out the majority of the war, Lord Forrest Frey leading the defence of the Riverlands in Riverrun’s absence. Even after Lord Forrest’s death, it was not Lord Grover Tully but Lord Forrest’s lady wife Sabitha Frey nee Vypren; a woman more at home in mail than silk, who commanded the men of the Trident. Though Lady Sabitha was a person Alyssa admired, she felt embarrassed by her family failing to do their duty; especially given that despite his bannermen rallying to Rhaenyra, Lord Grover wished to raise Riverrun’s banners for Aegon. 

 

Fortunately, his son Ser Elmo had better sense and defied his father’s orders, keeping the Tully forces out of the field. Only after the elderly Lord Grover passed away, did the new Lord Elmo open the gates and lead Riverrun’s forces into battle. Though Lord Elmo lasted only forty-nine days before drinking bad water on the march led to his death, his son, young Kermit Tully brought House Tully to its greatest moment of glory in history, when under his command the Riverlands crushed the army of Borros Baratheon en route to King’s Landing in the Battle of the Kingsroad.

 

With the war over, the two branches of House Vance had been unwilling to reunite, and the men of Wayfarer’s Rest had proudly taken the black dragon that was the symbol of their loyalty to Rhaenyra and placed it upon a white field, quartered with the golden eyes within a gold ring on black that was their former sigil to form their new banner. Since then, House Vance of Wayfarer’s Rest had served Riverrun loyally and well, and recently had been no exception. It was time they were rewarded for it.

  
  


“Lord Karyl Vance” though her voice was not loud, the silence allowed it to be heard clearly by all present. “Your House has given more to this war than any present. Not only have you fought by my side since the very beginning, but your lord father perished at Riverhold in defence of my home, his sacrifice allowing us to capture the Kingslayer and destroy his host. Long have you been leal bannermen to Riverrun, and on behalf of my father and brother, it is time that was recognised.”

 

Fists pounded on the table and words of agreement were heard around the tent as Alyssa placed the green dragon down atop a painted castle. “Lord Karyl, you and your men will secure the surrender of Hornvale.” 

 

Lord Karyl’s eyebrow rose for a moment, before a flash of understanding lit his eyes and he smiled gratefully, now realising the reward he was presented with. As the breeders of the finest cavalry in the Westerlands, House Brax’s herds had made them quite a wealthy House, perhaps the third richest of all Tywin’s bannermen, and with most of the House’s male members taken captive or killed at Riverhold, the castle was expected to put up little to no resistance. Once the castle was invested with no hope of relief, the castellan, himself a Brax, would likely yield as soon as he was reminded that his kin were in enemy hands, allowing Lord Karyl to bargain for a share of that Brax wealth. 

 

In other words, his father’s sacrifice would strengthen House Vance from beyond the grave and make them very wealthy indeed. Already making plans to restore the crumbling walls of Wayfarer’s Rest and upgrade his holdings, Lord Vance thanked Alyssa in earnest on behalf of his House, before going back to his plans. Smiling as she saw the older lord’s eyes go distant as he imagined his soon to be new fortune, Alyssa shook her head, smiling to herself before she addressed the next noble on her list.

 

“Ser Walder Frey”. Black Walder’s head didn’t move, but his eyes flicked over to her, and she could see his beard twitch, showing that he was smiling under it. Clearly, the Frey knight knew that a large enticement was now about to be made to keep the Twins sweet after the disaster at the Golden Tooth, and was attempting to guess exactly what it would be. Alyssa did not,  _ could not _ afford to disappoint him in that regard. “House Frey were instrumental in the freeing of Riverrun, and has served House Tully faithfully ever since. Any reputation the Twins may have had for being slow to answer Riverrun’s call is a thing of the past, and with my brother’s marriage, a new page is written in the relationship between Riverrun and the Twins.”

 

She paused, both for dramatic effect, and to take the wooden bridge from the box. “Your grandfather fell fighting for me at the Woods, your father at the Golden Tooth. No amount of coin can repay their deaths, but I hope that House Frey considers this fair recompense regardless.” Without another word, she set the piece down with a quiet click, and Black Walder’s eyes grew wide as he saw the name of the castle it was resting upon.

 

Silverhill, seat of House Serrett. If House Brax was the third richest bannerman of Casterly Rock, and House Lefford the richest, then the Serretts were without question the second. Their seat, Silverhill, was aptly named, it sat over vast silver mines, which, just like the Golden Tooth, enriched the Westerlands as a whole and the holders, after Casterly Rock had taken its traditional cut of course. “I Have No Rival” were the Serrett words, and the lords of Sliverhill did their best to prove that; sparing no expense when it came to their castle or thie holdings. If Ser Walder could bargain for even a tenth of the Serrett riches, he would be a very wealthy man indeed.

 

“The Lord of Silverhill fell at the Camps, and his House’s power was destroyed with him” Alyssa reminded Ser Walder gleefully, as if placing the cherry atop a cake. “The castle is now held by his son, a boy of three and ten, commanding no more than sixty men, mayhaps a hundred if he pulls green boys and greybeards onto his walls. I doubt he has the stomach for war, especially when he sees your numbers, but if he should be fool enough to give battle, then you should have no trouble.”

 

Black Walder’s beard twitched again, and the Frey knight locked eyes with Alyssa, simply giving her a nod of understanding. This, they both knew, more than made up for her mistake. With her debt paid and House Frey pacified, Alyssa turned to her other allies. “Ser Marq Piper.”

 

Blond head drawn up proudly, the heir to Pinkmaiden turned to listen to Alyssa as she continued speaking. “Like Lord Karyl’s father, your own lord father was with me since the start of the war, and though he may have decided to remain home rather than join our invasion, that is not a choice I begrudge him. In Lord Clement’s stead, you have proven the loyalty and worth of House Piper just as he did, and now it is time that the service of Pinkmaiden was repaid.”

 

Plucking the naked woman from the box, something that both drew whistles from some of the cruder lords and privately had Alyssa wondering where the hell the carver found a pink wood, she reached across to the other side of the map before dropping it in place. “You and your House, Ser Marq, will be attacking the market town of Kayce.” At the news that he was attacking a civilian town, the Piper knight’s face dropped, robbed of his chance for glory and she could see many of his fellows beginning to mock him. Intervening before things grew out of hand, she raised her voice.

 

“With Lord Kenning a Stark prisoner, and his men slain when the North crossed the Tumblestone, Kayce admittedly should be for King Robb to assign, but he agreed with me that our reason for choosing your House in this matter is valid.” She folded her arms and glanced at Ser Marq, still stonefaced. “The merchants of Kayce are well-off, and the town is reasonably wealthy, but this is more than a mere reward, Ser Marq. Your House also plays a key role in attacking another target.”

 

Reaching up, she tapped the island of Fair Isle, north of the peninsula on which Kayce was built. “Unlike the other lords, Ser Marq, your situation will be different. While I did promise that you could do as you wished with the holdings of your chosen castle, and indeed the Kenning lands are yours to pillage as you please, the merchant ships in the ports of Kayce are an exception to that rule.  _ They  _ will be handed over to Ser Patrek and the men of House Mallister, who will accompany you to the town, at which point they will be used to transport the Mallister forces across the Straits of Fair Isle so they can assault Faircastle.”

 

Ser Patrek jerked upwards at this, glancing at Alyssa, and then, she noted with some satisfaction, at Ser Marq. Smiling, she looked both men in the eyes, difficult, but by turning her head at just the right angle it could be done. “Let me be very clear, Ser Marq. You may be providing ships from Kayce for Ser Patrek’s invasion, but the town is your objective, and yours alone. Ser Patrek is not obliged to assist you in the taking of it, nor are you to to share the spoils of your victory with him. However” she added with a mischievous grin, “if you wished to enlist his help in exchange for a share of the rewards, then that is between the two of you.”

 

The two men stared at each other then, and after a few moments of debate, an agreement was struck in which House Piper and Mallister both agreed to attack Kayce and Faircastle together, and then split the profits of both equally. Happy that they had come to an accord so easily, Alyssa turned to less pleasant business, taking the green dragon piece in hand. Unlike their cousins from Wayfarer’s Rest, the Vances of Atranta had supported the greens during the Dance, despite Prince Aemond Targaryen, a prominent green commander, burning the Riverlands end to end with his dragon to force the lords of the Trident to yield; the madman not even sparing those loyal to the greens.

 

Defiant to the end, rather than meekly accept Rhaenyra’s son as King after the Dance was over, the green-loyal Vances refused to be shamed by their choice of sides, and refused to back down; doing as their cousins did and merging their chosen sides symbol with that of their sigil to form their new arms. The green dragon on white was quartered with a white tower on black, showing House Vance’s loyalty to the fallen Aegon II’s cause for all time.

 

Though Atranta had bent the knee to Riverrun once more after the war and been pardoned, serving well and loyally ever since, Alyssa could not,  _ would not _ forget that the Atranta Vances had stood with those who burned the Riverlands and killed its people, nor would she forgive their betrayal of her family. Their performance in the war too, was nothing to speak about. Though Lord Norbert Vance was a friend of both her father and uncle and served them faithfully, the Lord of Atranta was not only as old as her father, but blind; rendering him unfit for the field.

 

In his place, Lord Norbert had sent his son and heir, the aptly named “Bad” Ronald Vance, the man who had gotten the majority of Alyssa’s outriders and light horse killed. With Ser Ronald now no longer able to command  _ or to do any further harm to the war effort _ she thought spitefully, command of the Vance forces fell to his brother Ser Hugo, a green summer knight unexperienced in true warfare. Though custom bade her reward the Atranta Vances for their service, Alyssa did not intend to do so as generously, or as easily as she had their cousins, and so the green dragon piece was set atop the castle of Sarsfield.

 

“House Sarsfield holds the River Road, and blocks our direct route to Casterly Rock” She turned her head, looking directly at the young Vance knight. “Your House will take it, but be wary. Unlike the other targets mentioned thus far, Lord Sarsfield did not march with Tywin’s army nor the Kingslayer’s, and if he remained in his seat rather than leading his men to Lannisport then the defence will be far better organised.” Ser Hugo nodded, face set, but his eyes revealed his excitement, the young knight eager to bring glory to her House. Snorting onwardly, Alyssa thought to herself that if he was not careful, all he would bring was death to himself. House Sarsfield was known for producing the finest mounted archers in the West; a frontal assault would be costly.

 

Putting the matter from her mind, Alyssa took the last piece from her box, an old, notched dolphin carved from grey wood. Smiling wistfully at the memories the piece brought, she tossed it in her hand for a moment. “As for myself, the forces of Riverhold will be striking at the heart of Lord Tywin’s support. I mean to take the seat of perhaps his most loyal bannerman.” Catching the piece as it came down, she set it down firmly, the dolphin now overlooking the castle of Ashemark, seat of House Marbrand. More noises of approval came from those around her, and she cleared her throat, taking a drink from her waterskin, voice sore after all this talking.

 

“Before I defer to King Robb to hand out targets to the Northerners, one last thing, my lords.” She glanced around the room, making sure to lock eyes with every one of her brother’s bannermen there. “The purpose of this invasion was not merely for revenge, but also to alleviate the suffering of our people and ensure the Lannisters cannot attack us again any time soon. To that end, while all spoils of war are yours as I said, I will ask this. When you pass through the villages, take their steel. Take their smiths, and destroy any smithies and equipment they have. Rob them of their ability to forge weapons and armor” she pointed out with a tap of her own mail, “and you prevent them from forming or equipping another host for years.” Though some nobles frowned at the thought of this, many others saw the logic in her words, and pounded their fists on the table in approval, drawing a grateful nod from her in return. “Take as much food as you can as well, our people gave most of what they had to our host, and with so many men in the field, only Lannister prisoners are working our fields. Even a few herds of cattle could help dramatically in that area.

 

But again, the choice is yours” she finished, with a shrug and a smile. “I believe your turn has come, Your Grace” gesturing to Robb before she stepped back to allow her nephew to come closer to the table as he began setting wooden tokens of his own along the edge of the table, ready to be taken. Picking up the ebony bear first, he unconsciously turned it over in his hand as he spoke.

 

“Lady Maege Mormont.”

 

The Lady of Bear Island looked up at him sharply, spiked mace swinging from her belt as she turned, Helman Tallhart cursing under his breath as he pulled his leg out of the way in time. Robb managed to keep the amusement from showing on his face, but it was a near thing. “Though none can doubt the valour of your House, Lady Maege, nor question the loyalty of the men, and women” he added with a smile “of Bear Island to House Stark, the fact remains that your contingent is the weakest among our forces.” The gruff woman’s hand clenched into a fist instinctively at that, before she acknowledged Robb’s point with a slump of her shoulders. “Aye, that’s true enough.”

 

Smiling in sympathy at her, Robb cleared his throat. “Lady Mormont, you and your forces will secure the surrender of Threestone Keep, seat of House Plumm. While not a wealthy House, they guard the River Road, and if our other attacks are to succeed safely, Threestone must fall.”

 

He put the bear in its place on the map, and then took the giant into his hand. “Lord Jon Umber.” Glad for his wait to be over, the Greatjon stared at the map closely, waiting to find out what his task would be.  “I know full well the men of House Umber would never shirk their chance for a fight” Robb said with a grin that was matched by many who knew of the Umber’s reputation and general disposition towards battle. Eagerly, the Greatjon leaned over the map as Robb put the giant down near Kayce. “Your House will subdue the castle of Feastfires. While the majority of House Prester’s strength may be at Lannisport right now, Feastfires is both close to the Rock and far from the Tooth. News of our attacks will reach Lannisport long before you reach the castle, and Lord Prester may well call his men back to defend his seat.” Robb’s fingers were steepled on the table in front of him as he looked over them at the Greatjon. “You’ll be in for a fight, Lord Umber.”

 

“Good!” the big man shouted gleefully. “Give us a chance to show these Southerners how real Northmen fight!”

 

Noticing Roose Bolton rolling his eyes at the edge of his vision, Robb swiftly took the cherrywood piece carved into the shape of a flayed man and set it down close to the Tooth. “Lord Roose Bolton. You and the men of the Dreadfort are assigned the castle of Deep Den. Guarding the Gold Road, the Lyddens have dug deep into the hills for their seat, and even though Lord Lewys was slain at the Camps, his remaining garrison will not let you pass easily.” Robb tapped his finger on the Deep Den for a moment, envisioning the situation. “You will pay in blood for every yard taken, Lord Bolton, but the Lyddens are a wealthy House, as are the Presters, and once you do succeed, both you and Lord Umber will find the rewards worth the risks.”

 

Looking at the map one last time, Roose Bolton began examining his parchment closely, comparing the Lydden strength to his own, and calculating his likely losses, while the Greatjon was already waiting for the command to march. Sighing inwardly at the antics of his bannermen, Robb continued down the list. Houses Dustin and Ryswell, which had committed hardly any men to the Northern host, were given the Banefort and Wyndhall to attack; strong keeps held by powerful Houses, yet ones less wealthy than others in the West. It was quite clearly a punishment for their poor contribution to the war effort, and the heads of both Houses clearly knew it.

 

Ser Donnel Locke, heir to Oldcastle was ordered to take the Crag in the absence of his ailing father, while the men who had come down from the northern mountains were sent to Steelcrown, seat of House Stackspear. A strong keep set high in the hills, if any could take it the clansmen could, well used to climbing their mountain homes.

 

Medger Cerwyn found himself commanded to seize Castle Broom, a distant keep on a wind-swept coastline in the far north-west of the Westerlands. Jutting out into the Riverlands, Castle Broom ruled mountainous lands once under the purview of the Kings of Rivers and Hills, before that salient of the Riverlands had been seized by the Kings of the Rock hundreds of years ago. Though Alyssa  _ burned  _ to assign one of her own bannermen to it, or even retake it herself, she knew this invasion was merely a slash and burn punishing expedition, not a true conquest, and that permanently retaking those lands for the Kingdom of the Trident was not possible, much as she wished it were so.

 

_ However,  _ she thought wickedly,  _ when this war is won and we force Lord Tywin to the table, they would make a fine bargaining chip.  _

 

Putting that from her mind for now, she returned her attention to the here and now to hear Robb finish handing out assignments. Due to some... _ interesting  _ turnabouts of inheritance, Lord Robin Flint of Flint’s Finger was, as the only son of Lady Lyessa Flint, also the heir to Widow’s Watch, and with his lady mother heavy with child, commander of her forces in her stead. This had presented a problem, as Lord Robin had the command of both armies from the branches of House Flint, but could not be in two places at once. Robb’s solution was for Lord Robin to lead both branches in attacks on the neighbouring Pride Peak and Sower’s Field, seats of Houses Jast and Moreland, and split the plunder from each equally.

 

Three Houses remained; Karstark, Manderly and Hornwood, but it had not escaped anyone’s notice that only one castle yet remained. Crakehall, seat of House Crakehall, quite possibly Lord Tywin’s most powerful remaining bannermen. As Robb picked up the wolf piece, however, they were shocked to hear what came next.

 

“House Stark will deal with the lands directly surrounding Lannisport itself, as well as capturing the seats of the Knightly Houses sworn to Casterly Rock.” The wolf was set down next to the city gates, and Robb scooped the three remaining pieces into his hand. “And that leaves House Karstark” he placed the sun back on the edge of the table, “House Manderly” the blue merman joined it “and House Hornwood”. An orange moose token completed the trio sitting in the middle of the Sunset Sea, at least according to the map, and Robb clasped his hands together over the table.

 

“Lord Rickard Karstark!” White-bearded Lord Rickard turned to look at his young kinsman, and Robb put the sun down next to the remaining castle, but before Lord Rickard could speak or the others object, Robb had called again. “Ser Wylis Manderly!” Slower than Lord Rickard due to his size, the heir to White Harbour turned to face his King.  No longer fit for war, Lord Wyman Manderly of White Harbour, the aptly dubbed “Lord Too Fat To Sit A Horse” had sent his heir in his stead, and though Wylis looked to follow his father in stature and eating habits, he was a proud, loyal man who would not shirk his duty or soil his honor.

 

“Lord Halys Hornwood” was called last, and the cheerful Lord of the Hornwood smiled kindly at his King. Robb placed the merman and moose next to the sun, gaze flicking between all three men before he spoke. “My lords and sers. As you know, Crakehall is the greatest threat to our campaign here in the West. Lord Roland remains in his seat, and due to his castle’s key position, was permitted to retain more of his strength than we would like. With how close Crakehall is to Lannisport, it’s a sure thing Lord Roland will have recalled his men before you arrive.

 

Crakehall is a strong castle, and with the men to man its walls, could see off attacks for moons. If it is to be taken, it must be done so by siege. So”. He stared now at Lord Rickard, the Lord of Karhold stiffening to attention as he felt Robb’s gaze upon him, before the King in the North abruptly looked away, leaving Rickard puzzled as to what Robb was thinking. “The three of you, together, shall unite your forces and march on Crakehall. Invest the castle, prevent any hope of resupply and starve them out. Lord Karstark, the command is yours.”

 

Ser Wylis flushed under his moustache and Lord Halys smile merely dimmed a shade before both men gave respectful nods towards Lord Rickard, accepting his authority.  With that taken care of, Robb took a deep breath before proceeding to the last stage of the plan. “We depart tomorrow, my lords. Our meeting point will be outside Lannisport two moons from now. Since House Stark is already in the area, I will also take care of setting up our encampment. Do any of you have any questions about this plan?”

 

“Well, since you asked, Your Grace” Galbart Glover began, hand rubbing his chin as he pointed at the map. “What are the stars for?”

 

Without even needing to look, Robb knew exactly what Glover was talking about, and with a subtle jerk of his head, he indicated for Alyssa to handle the explanation. This was of course, her plan.

 

“Well, since you mentioned it, Master Galbart” Alyssa began, eyes dancing as she swept her hand over the map, “this is the final stage of my master plan for conquering the Westerlands.”

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the length of time since my last post, from here threads begin to diverge and I wanted to make sure all my timing was accurate, because there's no going back now. With the attack targets given, I won't bother listing every individual tiny siege, only the ones that matter in some way, and so I will try to get the next chapter out faster.
> 
> I'll also be putting up a map of the various attack routes today, which also contains the stars Galbart Glover mentioned. Feel free to guess what they represent, and what Alyssa's plan is, I'm interested to see how closely people come to guessing right. Though for obvious reasons, you won't know if you are until you see the chapters.


	44. Interlude 4 - Invasion Map

  
  
  
  
The red dotted line represents the approximate range of cavalry attacking from Lannisport. If forces from the North or Riverlands travel within this zone, they risk being attacked on the road by heavy horse. That should explain why poor Lord Cerwyn has such a long way to go.


	45. Deep Den

One of the oldest Houses in the Westerlands, House Lydden had long been tied to Casterly Rock with bonds of more than loyalty. When a Lannister king had found himself with only daughters to inherit his crown, it was Ser Joffrey Lydden who took the eldest daughter to wife; rising as Joffrey Lannister, King of the Rock. It was a great boon to their House, and the Lyddens had never forgotten it. Time and time again, the men of the Deep Den had answered the call when Casterly Rock gave it, and this war had been no exception. Lewys Lydden, Lord of the Deep Den had been slain at the Battle of the Camps, body pierced by a dozen Frey spears, and just like most of the eastern Lannister vassals, the greatest part of his power had died with him.

 

Any other House may well have yielded, but like the badger they had taken as their sigil, the Lyddens only fought harder when backed into a corner. Deep Den, their fortress in the hills flanking the Gold Road, was built like no other castle Roose had ever seen. Instead of the usual walls, towers and keep rising from the ground, the Lyddens had done as the badgers do, and made their home beneath the earth. A thick iron portcullis and heavy doors blocked the entrance to a vast underground tunnel network, where halls, armouries, chambers and solars had been dug out.

 

Exactly how far down the Lydden’s stronghold went, none living knew. The exact layout of the Deep Den was the House’s most closely guarded secret, passed down from father to son, and never committed to parchment save when it was time for the next heir to memorise it, before the parchment was then burned before his eyes to ensure secrecy. With the death of Lord Lewys at the Camps, however, the chain had been broken, and the secrets of his home had died with him. What was known, however, was the Deep Den’s halls were littered with murder holes, traps and nooks where an invading enemy could be ambushed.

 

Folding his hands together, Lord Roose Bolton of the Dreadfort looked over the pommel of his saddle at the entrance to the castle, currently barred to all entrance. The gates were locked and bolted, the portcullis firmly locked in place and Joffrey’s lion and stag flew defiantly from the hilltop above the gates alongside the Lydden’s own white badger on green and brown. After his offer of parley had been firmly rejected, Roose was left with the choices of laying siege to the well-supplied underground fortress, or breaking the gates and storming the castle.

 

Neither choice interested him in truth. The Deep Den was designed to hold off sieges, and no doubt had enough supplies to keep the Bolton forces pinned down here for moons starving them out. While King Robb had not forbidden his lords from taking their targets by siege, all present at the council knew that the key to this strategy was speed and surprise. Remain in one place too long, and you risked Tywin Lannister coming down on you with his full power from Lannisport.

 

As for storming the gates, Roose refused to even think about it. He knew how that song would end. The narrow tunnels would negate his greater numbers, forcing his men to fight evenly with the Lydden defenders. Every foot of ground, as Robb Stark had said, Roose would be forced to fight for, and though he would eventually win, after all with three thousand men behind him he outnumbered the garrison twenty to one; he would be shedding men like water as he pushed deeper inside. He estimated losses of at least three hundred, mayhaps many times more than that.

 

While Roose cared not a whit for the lives of the men under his command, if his troops came to believe he was recklessly throwing their lives away they may rebel, and he did not wish to deal with that right now. Not to mention, House Bolton’s army was its power, and he refused to allow it to be diminished due to fools who lacked the sense to yield when their cause was hopeless. He elected, therefore, to take the third option.

 

An man who has ever stepped foot in a mine or underground passage knows that unless you wish to smother to death, you can’t simply dig a tunnel to where you want and be done with it. Vents and side passages to allow air to reach those inside must be carved out in the correct places, and the further underground you go the more that are required. Also, any decent commander knows that you never build a fortress with only one entrance unless you have absolutely no choice in the matter. Having a hidden door to sneak in supplies, even in tiny amounts, can mean the difference between life and death in a siege.

 

Knowing this from his time in the hidden chambers under the Dreadfort, Roose sent hundreds of his men to scour the tops and sides of the hills for miles around the entrance to the Deep Den, even going so far as to order them to continue their search when the hills strayed onto the land of the neighbouring Houses Serrett and Brax, confident that the Lyddens would not have let such a border discourage them. Hidden or not, doors are, by nature, harder to hide than air vents and so the Bolton lord soon received news that his men had found the badger’s last resort.

 

He could have ordered his men to infiltrate the Deep Den via the door and take the castle. Surprise would have been on their side, and they would have gotten much further in without being detected, but of course eventually they would have to fight. But that was not Roose’s way. He saw no reason to waste men when there was another, far simpler route available to him, with the only impediment there being the honour or weakness of the potential attacker in using such a method and for Roose Bolton, such things were mere words.

 

The execution of Roose’s orders was as efficient as it was cold. The great doors were blocked with a wall of rock and earth, and the men searching the hills were instructed to mark any air vent or door they found by planting a banner next to it before moving on. Every wagon that could be spared or taken from nearby smallfolk was packed with materials, and dispatched in all directions. Those driving them were similarly given instructions that should they come across the sigil of the flayed man, they were to search the ground immediately around it for the marked opening, at which point it was to be sealed; blocked with stone and mud so that not even the wind could get through. 

 

The work took days, which was no surprise to Roose; the Lyddens had had thousands of years to prepare their fortress after all, but at length his captain, wiping sweat from his brow and rubbing his sore back, reported that every possible entrance or passage into the Deep Den had been sealed. Nodding absently, Roose dismissed his captain with a disinterested wave. Hundreds of mouths breathing air could use up all the oxygen in a place fairly quickly, but the Deep Den was vast, and the tunnels deep. It would take time before he could see results, and so Roose turned back to his book, reading the history of the last Red King of House Bolton, and the man’s account of the Stark Kings two year siege of the Dreadfort that led to House Bolton’s final submission. Over the next week, the men posted at the wall reported hearing faint pounding, muffled words and gasps. Roose turned a page absently.

 

Seven days later, Roose closed his book and without changing his expression in the slightest, quietly requested for a servant to bring him his guard captain. The man scurried off, and was soon replaced by the broad-chested figure of the Dreadfort’s captain of the guards was called; known for the heavy metal greaves the man wore, ‘Steelshanks’ was simple, yet utterly loyal to Roose. Without a word said, the captain knew what his lord wanted and with a bow, turned and left to organise the opening of the Deep Den.

 

When the wall blocking the gates was torn down, many of the Bolton men shied away, as if expecting arrows or burning oil at any moment. A flick of Roose’s eyes had Walton ordering the men forward, and after one particularly brave or foolhardy soldier had run up and touched the doors to prove it was safe, they set to work on them with warhammers and heavy two-handed axes. It took time of course, the gates were thick and strong, but wood, even iron-shod wood, will eventually yield to the bite of a good axe swung by a strong man. After hours of listening to axes chopping at wood and spiked hammers smashing small holes, the gates fell to triumphant cries from the exhausted soldiers attacking them.

 

The portcullis was the last remaining barrier to complete Bolton control of the castle, but it was also the most difficult to overcome. Four feet thick of solid steel driven by chains and weights, spikes drove deep into notches carved especially for it into the surrounding rock. It could not be pried open, and no man, living or dead, not even the Mountain, could have lifted such a weight. Fortunately, Roose had more than one man. The saying was “many hands make light work”, and when you had three thousand pairs of hands ready to help, you could accomplish some remarkable things indeed. Iron levers were shoved between the bars, the strongest men grabbed onto the gate with gritted teeth, grappling hooks were tied to the wagons and hooked on, and thick ropes were passed out among the men. At the signal every man heaved with his full might, and with the driver’s whips cracking, so too did the horses.

 

Sweat fell like rain, curses flew in the wind and with the entire strength of the Bolton army devoted to the task, it was not long before the portcullis was forcefully pulled from its housing with a creak of metal. Cheers came from the assembled army as the metal gate finally came free and was tossed aside with an ear-splitting crash. Walton led the charge, sword drawn and the men of the Dreadfort poured into the Deep Den. Their victorious cries died off, however, when they saw the results of their work in the past week. Bodies lay everywhere in the tunnels, many still clutching at their throats as if desperately trying for one last breath. Walton barely maintained his control when he saw a young girl not yet five namedays lying there in the arms of her mother, a small bottle nearby.

 

_ She poisoned the girl to spare her the pain of suffocation, and then herself. _

 

Careful not to soil his red armoured boots, Roose stepped over a man who had voided his bowels in dying, and continued onwards. When he reached the lord’s solar, he paused for a moment and then gave an order before taking picks from his belt and beginning to work on the lock of Lord Lydden’s desk. The Lords of the Deep Den had not cut costs when it came to that lock, and it took Roose some minutes to gain access. Success rewarded him with a multitude of parchments likely containing Lord Lewys’ final private correspondences, and rather than spend his time here, Roose stacked them inside a satchel he had brought for this purpose. He would read through them later, at his leisure.

 

Closing the desk again, he stood up and noted out of the corner of his eye that his orders were being carried out. His men were gathering up all the bodies and piling them in one of the empty storage rooms, after they had been thoroughly searched for valuables of course. Any other army might have had problems with looting, but Roose had made his instructions clear as crystal before the Dreadfort men entered. Once the Deep Den had been thoroughly stripped of anything worth money, the total worth would be calculated and Roose would see that a tenth of it was equally shared among his men. It would likely only work out to be a gold dragon or two each, but it would keep them happy, and more importantly, pacified, which kept them from bothering Roose. Anyone caught stealing...well, he may not have made any overt threats, but House Bolton’s reputation was infamous and the Stark laws forbidding flaying did not apply below the Neck.

 

Tapestries, weapons, armor, gold and anything else that could be sold for coin or was otherwise usable was piled into wagons in front of the now broken gates, including the portcullis itself, pounds of good steel Roose had no intention of wasting. When Walton’s inspection confirmed that the Deep Den had been totally stripped of anything worthwhile, the strongest Dreadfort men returned to the tunnels with axes and levers. Under the careful guide of one of Roose’s soldiers; a miner by trade, they began systematically demolishing the support beams, setting fires, smashing keystones and collapsing the Deep Den room by room. 

 

As tons of rock and earth smashed down and thousands of years worth of work and engineering was destroyed in moments, Roose watched from outside, satisfied only when the hilltop bearing the Lydden banner collapsed and fell as the underlying structures were destroyed. With the Deep Den now well and truly removed as a threat, Roose now turned to collecting the reward King Robb had promised. When a castle failed to yield during a siege and was forced to be taken by storm, tradition dictated the attacker had the right to sack the fortress, take what they wanted and do as they wished with the inhabitants. Promised the right to do as he wished with the Lydden’s lands, the Lord of the Dreadfort meant to expand the concept of sacking to every village and holdfast formerly under the Lydden’s protection. 

 

Usually, when dealing with captured enemy lands, Roose would have tried to keep them intact for his own use, to say nothing of the castle. In this case, however, he was intelligent enough to know that he could never truly hold them; the North and the Westerlands were far from each other, and he could neither rule the Deep Den from the Dreadfort nor the Dreadfort from the Deep Den. Since he refused to abandon House Bolton’s ancestral seat for a burrow in the hills, that left him with few options but to strip as much value as he could get from the Lydden lands before he returned north.

 

Accompanied by wagons to carry their plunder, the Bolton men made their way across the lands once sworn to the badger. Their orders were simple, and yet a lesser man than Roose might have called them unacceptably cruel. Every one of the Lydden’s smallfolk was to be killed, and anything valuable in the buildings collected. Anvils were stolen from smithies and even the sept had the few crystals hacked off the statues of the Seven. Once that was done and there was nothing left worth taking, every single building was to be burned to the ground. Roose was not a wasteful man, and what he could not take, he refused to leave behind to be used by the enemy. Every field was stripped of its crops and then set aflame, the wagons soon groaning under the weight of the bounty they were carrying. Though the gathered wealth would benefit the Dreadfort vastly, Roose intended to be thorough in his destruction, and so he also had his men torch the stone holdfasts the people took shelter in.

 

Archers cut down any attempting to escape the blazes, and when the fires had burned out, hammer and axes finished the job the flames had begun, stone walls cracking and breaking under the blows. As the holdfasts crashed down, screams could be heard as the collapsing fortifications crushed those taking shelter within them. There was a grim pattern about it each time they marched into a town. The bells would ring, and the people; women and children mainly, the men were called to Lannisport or dead, would scream and flee for the safety of the holdfast. Those slow or foolish enough not to get inside in time would see the gates closed against them, leaving them to the mercy of the Bolton men’s swords. They would receive the dubious mercy of death eventually, but first his men would have their fun. Other lords may have forbidden such things, but Roose couldn’t care less as long as they did their jobs.

 

Roose himself was even forced to redden his own blade once, when a boy not yet fifteen screamed and rushed at him with a crude spear made from a knife tied to a staff. Contemptuously, the Lord of the Dreadfort swatted the smallfolk weapon aside with his steel vambrace and drew his sword, allowing a second thrust to bounce off his breastplate as he did so. Roose’s sword took the boy’s head from his shoulders before he could try a third time. Covered in the blood spraying from the severed neck, Roose shook his head at the sight of the blood on his crimson plate, something that though mostly hidden by the colour of the armour; would still take his squire hours to clean later. Flicking the blood off his blade, Roose turned and continued his walk, ignoring Walton dragging a screaming woman into the corner by her hair. 


End file.
